what is this selfish nature of yours?

Her next statement is stated so cooly and matter-of-factly that he is caught off guard by it, a small chuckle coming out from his mouth. “Oh, is that so? Must I remind you that I don’t have a clumsy bone in my body.” he jests, agreeing with the likelihood of him falling flat on his face. He has only been skating a handful of times in his lifetime; he hated winter when he was younger, just as he did now, and made sure his time spent outside was limited. The last thing he wanted to do as a young child was to go skating. This thought causes a swarm of memories to wander into his head, the more prominent ones being his father scolding him for purposely avoiding their family’s annual Christmas festivities (majority of the events taking place outside rather than inside)  and would often punish him by supplying him with chores that involved being outside in the cold for a lengthy period of time; so long that he’d always return home chilled to the bone.

He is quickly brought back to reality at the mention of his own son, “Somewhat. I enjoy all the dinner parties that come with them, but the actual holidays on their own?” He looks down to the ground briefly, “Let us just say that I’ve had better years.” He is referring to the fact that they’ve spent the majority of their holidays separated; the harrowing moments of loneliness he encountered only acting as a cruel reminder of what he lost. “Eric, on the other hand, is enjoying his first Christmas tremendously. He loves to wobble around in the snow in his new boots. And what of you? Are you enjoying the holidays?” He smiles at the mention of his curls, knowing how fond she was of them, “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Well, the holidays are not over yet. No need to put such a damper on things.” The first Christmas with your spouse was supposed to be something completely different to what they had began to experience, normally consisting of spending the holidays beside a warm fireplace with a mug of hot cocoa. Instead, the two had spent the build up to the holidays acting as if they did not know of eachothers presence at all, and were now spending the second half getting to the stage they once were. Wrapping her arms around her bodice, she did her arms under the material of the crimson cape she always wore. It were an object that he had always teased her for, wondering why she had always insisted on wearing the same winter cape rather than buy a new one his new money could afford. Definitely part of his Archenlander upbringing rubbing off on him, she normally ignored it, seeing as even she did not know why she seemed to be so attached to the object. Averting her eyes back to meeting his, she took a small breath and decided to be brave - there were no point in constantly running away. “I’m assuming you’ve left your Christmas shopping late. Should I act surprised?” 

She trailed in his wake while they wandered to the shovelled path beside the lake, her winter boots missing the soft crunch of the snow beneath her feet. Her hair was cold, the result of snowflakes melting in it and making it damped slightly, so she pulled up her hood to ensure she did not get a cold. “I am enjoying the holidays, though you know I do prefer All Hallows Eve.”  In the distance, she could see a group of young faun children in a snowball fight, the happy shrieks carrying through the cold air. “What is it you’re planning to get then?” Her mind was somewhat distracted, already attempting to figure out how she’ll avoid being hit by a snowball.

He wasn’t especially surprised to hear that Belle and Julian have yet to dance, mostly because he would have noticed if they had. Since the summit began, since his betrothed – now wife – arrived, Peter didn’t have much time to be a half-decent friend and inquire about the state of the Wingfield marriage. Even during his bachelor party he didn’t comment too much on it, too busy being mortified by all that happened. He should feel bad about that, Peter thought, but he couldn’t muster up the energy it required. It was their business, after all, not his. Still, now that the thought was in his head…. “How are the two of you, by the way?” It was a gentle question.

The image of Ed and Lu (yet again) bickering tugged a smile onto his face. At least they were having fun. “Well they wouldn’t be my siblings if they didn’t disagree on something.” A pause. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Quite a lot by the sounds of it, for which he was proud of. It was the first royal wedding in over a century, people should be enjoying themselves. It was a joyous occasion, and with Christmas just around the corner the people deserved all the celebrations they could get.

At the question, she felt somewhat surprised at the fact she did not feel her stomach drop like it had in their previous encounters when that subject had been brought up. Although she had known he did not mean any wrong during their last encounter and simply wished to repay the understanding she had shown him during their brief get away, she found she had no idea how to explain herself. Now, it felt as though a sense of deja vu had crossed over her, for the better this time. “We are well, I believe.” Pausing a little, noticing the change in music coming from the musicians positioned close to the open windows, the tune of a harmonious lute caused the edges of her mouth to change into somewhat of a smile. “You are most gracious for asking.”

The mischievous expression that had slipped across her face led to her feeling somewhat amused, her smile widening across her face as he bowed graciously before her. Regardless of the event, Belle could never fathom the enjoyment people had in merely exchanging in idle small talk with guests rather than truly enjoy themselves with a dance. Belle’s feet were beginning to ache from the amount of dancing she done that that night, though she would never be able to refuse the groom. Sweeping into a low bow at his feet, she sent him a warm smile. “Well your Grace, I never thought you’d ask.”

Allowing him to pull her closer, she cleared her throat slightly, resting one of her hands on his shoulders. They always seemed to have the impression of being stiff and harder than she imagined, though it must have been because he had allowed himself to relax. Somewhat softened by this, she slipped her other hand into his and went back to looking at him. Now they were in closer proximity, she were sure they would be able to speak more openly without the fear of being overheard. Returning to their previous topic, she lowered her voice. “We are better, though taking it slow. Right now, we’ve decided to merely rebuild things starting from close friends. If we are able to grow, then it must be what Aslan wills.” Feeling him beginning to lead, she loosened her own body, ensuring her swift movements were correct. 

“Of course I’ve danced,” he replied to her question with a small chuckle. “My wife and I were the first ones out there, your Grace.” He had to get used to saying that – my wife. “Did you not notice?” Admittedly, a part of Peter hoped she had not. Oh, of course, the dance had been nothing but elegant and perfectly executed, the pair putting on the perfect picture of loving husband and wife, but even so Peter still had the itch that those closer to him could notice the falsity of it. A paranoia, surely – he has been doing these things since he was thirteen, hiding his true emotions came second nature to him most days – but one he couldn’t help having.

“What of yourself? Have the Duke and Duchess of Beruna graced my wedding with a dance yet?” 

Raising the silver goblet to her hands, she took a small sip of cranberry juice while momentarily scanning the room in an attempt to find his newest wedded wife. Mithian looked like she had been blessed by Aslan himself, looking completely ravishing in white as a streak of light from a stained glass window fell upon her. It were a shame really, to think that the smile upon her lips was not one she truly meant - though she certainly knew how to fool people with her beauty. Belle would have pitied her in some way, though through her somewhat understanding of her to this point, she fathomed Princess Mithian would detest pity of all emotions. At his next question, her eyebrows raised slightly, in feign surprise. “Alas, Your Grace. It would seem that we have not.” 

She paused for a moment, her eyes quickly moving to the balcony where a foundation of red wine was situated, smiling slightly as some fauns went to refill their goblets. Turning to look at Peter for a moment, she lightly placed both of her hands across her bodice. “I’ve played multiple games of bowls with King Edmund and Queen Lucy however. They were in quite a bicker regarding the rules.”

Julian sat at his makeshift workstation in his chambers, his legs propped up on his wooden desk as he sat aimlessly in his chair. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he flings the last document he was suppose to review before sending it back to one of his advisors in Beruna, to the side. He decided to leave it for the day, as he had been working diligently as of late, and in his eyes, deserved a break; it also helped that Christmas was just around the corner and he had still yet to write up a list of all the Christmas gifts he would need to eventually buy. This wasn’t unusual for Julian though – to wait so last minute to buy his gifts – but with it being his son’s first Christmas, as well as his first Christmas with his wife (even though their relationship was somewhat strained at the moment), he found himself becoming more and more overwhelmed with the inherent need to please them both. Granted, Eric wasn’t even a year old yet, and wouldn’t remember a thing, Julian still wished for it to be perfect. As for Belle, he knew no amount of gifts would make up for their past, nor make their path to forgiveness any easier, he still wanted to find a gift for her that would start off the new year, as well as their new relationship, right. He wanted to find a gift that showed that he did in fact still care for her, and that his love and devotion for her was still as strong as the year before.

He stood up and made his way to his chamber door, reaching for his winter clock and a pair of gloves. Despite it only being mere seconds ago, he had made the impulsive decision to wander into the city in hopes to get ahead on his holiday shopping. He slipped a pouch of coins into his trouser pockets before slipping through his chamber doors and trudging his way outside into the thick and wet snow. Unlike most, Julian wasn’t particularly fond of the snow (in fact, he use to hate it. However, over the years, he has become more tolerant of it), it made travelling inconvenient and he dreaded the feeling of a cold nose. The snow also reminded Julian of his time where he had stumbled and lacerated his thigh open while hunting, and all but froze to death. This was main reason for his hatred towards the bitter season, as it was the icy and unpaved trail that was responsible for his nasty fall. However, the snow also reminded Julian of his first encounter with his wife, and for that reason alone, he couldn’t find it in him to completely loathe the winter season anymore. 

He continued his trek through the snow, until unexpectedly, he stumbled upon a frozen pond that had been turned into a skating rink. As if this wasn’t a big enough of a surprise in itself, seeing Belle skating on this very same pond was. Julian stood frozen in his tracks, almost dumbfounded by what his eyes were currently witnessing. His gaze doesn’t leave Belle’s frame, his eyes following her as she skates in small circles on the ice, her long mane of dark curls being swept across her shoulders and back from the cold breeze. He feels his heart flutter at the sight; more than pleased to see the happiness that was etched across her face. It had been a long time since Julian had last seen her truly happy. He looked down to the ground, a large smile slipping onto his features. 

Once the shock has finally washed through him, Julian sauntered his way over to the pond, his whereabouts to Belle still concealed. He stood at the edge of where the trail ends and connects with the pond.  With his arms crossed and his lips pressed into a mischievous smirk, he calls out to her. “Well, I’ll be damned, Evans.” he says, suppressing his urge to laugh, clearly amused by this entire situation, “I didn’t know you could skate. Tell me, has this escapade always been a hobby of yours or have you just picked up on it only recently?”

Winter in Galma was chilly, seeing as the island was situated within the Eastern Ocean and often brought the bitter winds as well as  the chilling cold. It were easy enough for any lakes to freeze up, resulting in most of the townsfolk using it as an ice rink. The villages would more often that not create festivals surrounding the lakes, selling ale and mulled wine, most adults sitting in inns while the children played outside on the ice. The ice was thick enough to never break, regardless of how sharp the steel upon the skates were, and was usually crowded with children. The main ice rink was in the centre of town, a large flat fountain with the wooden buildings surrounding it, though Belle would never find herself spending her time at that one. An event when she were around seven resulted in her grandmother banning her from playing on that ice rink, where a thirteen year old girl had fallen through the ice and Belle had hesitated to shout for help. She would have been fine, Belle remembered insisting to her while being dragged back home. Inwardly, she hoped she would not be - the girl had never hesitated in calling her names every time she saw her.

No, Belle would find herself at a smaller one in a thick patch of trees closer to their family cottage. The rink was merely a frozen lake, though she preferred it. Buying the skates, she found herself knowing of a lake similar to the one she always skated at back home around the city - and had found her feet guiding her there. Half an hour had passed, and she had not been interrupted. Until now. Faltering slightly at the sudden noise of a man’s voice calling from across the lake, her eyes whipped up from her feet to fall upon Julian’s face. “Wingfield.” Scrunching her nose in irritation, she attempted to maintain the flush threatening to rise from her cheeks. “It’s always been a hobby, thank you very much!” 

She skated over to him, playfully taking her own time. “I’d ask you to join, but you would probably fall flat on your face.” She stepped off the ice, taking her skates off and putting them in the small brown satchel she had on the snowy ground. “Enjoying the holidays? I trust Eric is in awe of the snow.”

Deep breaths. Painted smiles. Repeated pleasantries ( yes, thank you very much, we are glad you could be here to join us on this most joyous occasion. a firm handshake. Certainly there was some trepidation in the beginning as one can expect from this sort-of thing, but we’re overjoyed by our union and couldn’t be more pleased. a kiss upon mithian’s cheek would be added here for emphasis. Oh did you try the rinse. wash. repeat. ). After an hour of mingling and greeting and eating, the couple part ways, and Peter is struck by an uncertainty of what to do. He doesn’t want to see his siblings, he doesn’t want to speak to any ambassadors at the moment, yet he doesn’t want to be alone either. If he’s alone then every thought he’s trying to avoid will come to the forefront and he most certainly cannot have that.

He plucks a hors d’oeuvre from a tray and that’s when he spots Belle. Quickly eating the food, he walks over to her, swallowing. “Duchess Belle,” he says with a smile ( it’s painted on but it’s more real than it has been for most of the night ). “How are you this evening? I trust you’re enjoying yourself.”

 She were able to enjoy the festivities of the wedding as her own woman, in the company of some ladies from Calormen that she had been speaking to for most of the night about folklore. She were able to dance with whom she wanted, without worrying how it would come across. And beyond all, she were able to meet Julian’s eye from time to time, both of them attempting to hold back laughter whilst in their own individual conversations. There were a sense of freedom that had washed over that night, a stark contrast to what the newlyweds must have been feeling the moment the rings had slipped onto their fingers. 

At the familiar sound of a warm yet welcoming voice addressing her name, she looked from the woman’s face and found her eyes had fallen upon the groom himself. She rose to her feet, wiping down any folds in her skirts and giving the High King a low, sweeping bow. “Majesty. I am having a splendid time.” She ensured her formality was able to be recognised by the foreign diplomats surrounding them, before cocking her head slightly to the side to signal them to begin to walk from them. Speaking in a low voice, she too took a hors d'oeuvre from the tray, eating while walking through a bustling crowd. “Well, I didn’t think I would see you tonight.” Quickly dodging a spinning fuan, she couldn’t help but let out a low laugh. “Well done, Your Grace. You’ve succeeded with your motive, as always.” To your own unhappiness.

Still, the woman swept a low courtesy, and Mithian returned a graceful one, a nervous tight unraveling her stomach at the familiar steps. Her smile, which was beginning to once more grow more relaxed, tightened again as Belle corrected the dwarf, and dropped her title. “Of course,” she found herself agreeing, tilting her head in acquiescence, burying her confusion under politeness. The other seemed almost offended by being called a lady and she wondered what treacherous symbolism could such an innocuous term hold in a Narnian’s imagination. She wouldn’t return the favor though, her given name was rarely used informally, not even in a familial setting, and while her ladies sometimes called her simply Mithian, it was never in company. She didn’t feel nearly comfortable enough having a near stranger refer to her so familiarly, no matter how natural the Narnians might find it. She hadn’t assimilated yet (and with the poor hospitality, she was starting to worry she never might), but if someone clearly indicated the use of her name was preferable, then Mithian would assent to it.

“There’s no need for apologies, he was most courteous,” while the sudden rancor was surprising, Mithian managed an amused smile. Most people’s she’d met husbands were quite the characters, and although she had no direct evidence in this case of that fact, she was inclined to believe her, nonetheless. Belle would know best whom she married, after all, and if she was a full-fledged Narnian, then she might have even done it for love before it turned sour. It seemed marriage was a most testing affair, regardless of the reasons that started it.  

“So, I pray you tell me. What is the most striking thing you find in Narnia so far? I trust it is very different to Telmar.”

A slight head tilt given from the other woman made her fighting to suppress the edges of her lips that threatened to turn upwards, no doubt revealing an amused smirk that would only further anger the prickly princess. The reaction was often one she was forced to endure with, when meeting foreign ambassadors at Cair Paravel for the first time - the most priceless reactions certainly being from members of the aristocracy in Archenland. It was important to stress the fact the title she had married into was not one that was custom in Narnia, but was rather a reward granted from the High King to his close friend for the recovery of his brother. It was for that reason Julian was given responsibility for the area they had managed to find Edmund in, and it was more work rather than a gift. The title was more of an occupation, a job rather than a title of social status - and would therefore not be fitting to be used in any other context. Other Narnian folk had found Mithian’s presence in Cair Paravel somewhat strange and foreign, knowing she were not a mere visitor but would soon be married to their High King. The main question that came from their mouths was why would Peter commit to such a marriage when this summit called for alliances without marriage? After all, marriage for politics was unarnian in every way.

And that was something she could always readily agree with, regardless the circumstance. Marrying an Archenlander of origin had granted her a glimpse into other opinions and ways of life, though thankfully Julian was nowhere near as close minded as others she had met. Marrying for love was something that was seen as necessary and excessively important in daily Narnian life, it would be somewhat of a controversy to see their High King of all people marry for politics. At the further mention of Julian, her eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned over the woman. She knew he would have definitely made some suggestive comments to her, as she definitely were pretty. Pretty enough for him, at least - it were not like his standards were high. “Indeed. Most courteous.”

She stood in the centre room, ignoring the scoff that had come out of Mithian’s mouth toward the dwarf though she could not help but glance in Mithian’s direction. Such blatant rudeness from an outsider was something that would not be accepted by anyone, especially the wife of the High King. Trying to dismiss it as merely the way Mithian had been raised from when she were a young girl, rather than rudeness that were part of her temperament, Belle closed her mouth in a thin line. Moving her hand to her hips, she patted them slightly, she silently explained to Mithian that her hips needed to loosen. “You know, you won’t be forced to dance if you do not wish to.” 

Wishing she could provide more assistance, she noticed her feet were stood side by side rather than at a small angle apart. They needed to split slightly in order to make further movement with her waist more willowy rather than split. If it were anyone else, Belle would have no issue with extending her hands and changing the woman’s body posture - then again, she was sure the Princess would not appreciate that. Lifting her skirts slightly, she changed the posture of her feet so one was slightly infront of the other, extending her arms in the right position and showing her the movement.