The Forgotten (Peter Pevensie x OC)

Chapter 5

Two swords clashed, making everyone's ears ring. The fight seemed to go on forever, the two participants ducking and jumping, slashing the air and stabbing towards their opponent. The Crowd was going crazy. Never before had they seen such an evenly matched fight.

Noah spun, avoiding the fauns blade and launching his own attack, causing the faun (by the name of Dulus) to stumble. However he quickly regained his balance, parrying every hit Noah threw. Despite his goat legs, Dulus was the best fighter in hands-on combat in Aslan's army, and Noah was slightly surprised that he had managed to match the faun this far, though he was rapidly tiring out.

As he fought, he remembered. He remembered all the injustices he had found since he came here. First, Evelyn was taken. Then he found out that he was a prince, and his identity had been kept from him for 12 years! And lastly, that him and Evelyn were involved in some stupid prophecy, which foretold of the betrayal committed by one of them. So much pressure, and so much anger. He hated it. He just wanted to go back to England with Evelyn, and forget that this whole thing had ever happened. He wanted to feel safe again. To know that Evelyn is safe. To be free, and happy.

But he couldn't. As long as he knew that these poor Narnians were imprisoned in winter, he had to stay. To fight. To give others the freedom that he had. To get her back. She was his sister! And she might be gone!
With one final cry, he knocked the sword from Dulus' fingers, sending it flying through the air and into the crowd. Dulus could not hide the slightly shocked expression as he bowed, admitting defeat. Over in the crowd, a smile pulled at Orieus' mouth. The boy had come far, and there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that he was his father's son. Always a king.

--

Farther away, someone else had a sword fight to win. Evelyn slashed and twirled, ducking expertly and parrying every swing. Memories flew into her mind, but she pushed them away. She must have a cool head in battle. She launched a new attack, watching as Hadre stumbled, clearly having a hard time keeping up. Forcing him to the ground, she sent his sword flying, nearly knocking of a minotaur's head from the momentum. Her sword now aimed at his throat, she smirked, in a who's-the-best-now? kind of way. A laugh escaped his lips as she offered a hand to help him up.

"I guess I have to step down." He joked. "Narnia has a new sword legend now.".
Evelyn looked to her mother, and saw the briefest look of...something, before her face became an icy mask once again. She pushed it off, instead focusing on her win and new title, raising her sword to the crowd. All around them, the army cheered. They officially had a new master of sword, and with that, came the traditions.

Inside, Jadis felt weird. It was only when she tried to push the feeling away that she realised it was pride. She didn't show it for long, just a moment, but she knew that her daughter saw her. Her daughter. The best fighter in Narnia. They were unstoppable now.

"Gather, my army, for we have a new master of sword!" She cried. "Today, she conquered, and tomorrow...the hunt begins!" But first...she glanced towards Maugrim, and he nodded, leading his pack in a sprint down the icy slope.

--

The next day, Evelyn rose early. She smiled, remembering what today was. Today was the hunt. A tradition carried out with every new master of sword, the hunt consisted of four select beings, who were given a target, most likely a rebel, which they had to track down. Whoever got it, won, and was given glory like no other. Hadre had told her about it, as he had played a part in his own hunt two years ago, when he became the new master of sword. Naturally, as the defeated master, he was one of the competitors, alongside Evelyn, as the new master. This was his last chance to redeem himself. If he lost, he would be completely stripped of the title of master of sword, and set back to a soldier, but if he won, he might be given a chance to hold on to his high ranking in the army. A lot of weight rested on his shoulders.