𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒙𝒊𝒊 . . . actresses and sacrifices

"𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍, 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 need to know how to use a sword. I mean, I can use a bow and arrow, and can ride a horse, but I've spent so long trying to come up with different battle strategies, that it'll all be pointless if I can't take any part in them using my fathers sword. I wouldn't have been given it if it wasn't meant to be used, would it?"

"A good choice, dear one. Your father would have indeed have wanted you to put his sword to good use, much like you are with your mother's weapons. I will ask Oreius if he doesn't mind training you this afternoon. You will need to know the basics before the dawn breaks tomorrow.

I will leave for the stone table this evening, and you will not accompany me any further than I ask you to. You must come straight back here, and tell Peter and Edmund of the battle plans. There will be a celebration tonight, for the return of the Son of Adam, and the knighting of Peter."

Charlotte nodded her head towards Aslan, and picked up her bow and quiver of arrows before hurrying to her own tent, avoiding the questions being fired at her by the Pevensies.

Grabbing another pair of tight leather trousers and a white poet shirt, she stepped behind the changing screen and pulled at the strings of her dress, and re-dressing herself, before stepping out from behind the screen, and yanking on her knee length boots and securing her sword around her waist, bow and quiver left discarded by her bed. Making her way over to the field where she found Oreius, he greeted her with a bow, and

"Good afternoon, your highness."

"Please, don't do that. I don't really like it that much, I prefer to just be called Charlotte. There's really no need to bow, either." The centaur said his apologies, and began her training.

It was a few hours later when Charlotte had swung, blocked, dodged and parried her way to a number of victories against Aslan's general, and had accumulated quite the crowd too. Fawns and satyrs were cheering loudly, and the dryads were squealing in a high pitch anytime a sword was swung close to their precious princess that they could play dress up with. The four Pevensie children were all just stood in shock.

Susan and Lucy were wondering how this was the same girl that stood beside Aslan in the face of the White Witch, Edmund was trying very hard to fight a laugh from escaping his lips when looking at his brother. He thought that he looked at her like she was one of the pretty actresses they had seen in a film at the pictures once. But, Peter was to distracted by the girl to notice what exactly it was his brother was laughing about, and what is was she was actually doing.

He couldn't deny, he thought she looked amazing in the trousers and shirt, especially with some of her hair pulling away from her plaits, her rosy cheeks from excitement and exhaustion, and her emerald eyes wide, darting side to side, always looking for where her opponent would strike next, and never missing once.

Once Oreius had been disarmed, the crowd burst into cheers and applause so loud, that if the Witch strained her ears enough, even she could hear them.