𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒙𝒊𝒗 . . . for aslan

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐔𝐏 onto Hazel with some difficulty. As it turns out, it was a lot harder to sit comfortably on horse back when wearing thick iron armour, compared to trousers and a shirt. Making sure her sword and bow were secured, she took her helmet out of one of the dryads hands and tucked it under her left arm. She flicked the reigns, urging Hazel into a trot to catch up with Peter and Edmund at the front of the army, leading to Beruna.

"So..." Her voice trailed off when she turned and saw the looks of blazing determination set in stone within the features of the two Pevensie brothers. It all of a sudden became very real. Just like it had done the previous night when she was standing in her tent. She then realized that marching off to battle wasn't anything like it was described in stories, and poems, and the few survivors of the first world war the professor had spoken to.

It was much worse.

It would have been impossible for Charlotte to put into words the emotions he was feeling as she moved closer and closer to the battle field.

When the field of Beruna came into view over the cliffs, Charlotte felt all the colour drain from her face and her stomach jolt. This was it. She was going to war. And she needed to win.

She needed to win for the prophecy to become true, for Aslan, for the narnians she had a right to call her subjects, and her parents who fought with the knowledge that what ever fate that should befall them would be. That she was safe, and she could fulfil her fate, and the prophecy she was spoken of.

"You ok?" Peter asked, turning towards her. He had taken note of her sickly looking features and wanted to make sure she was fine.

"Never better, but is now a good time to mention that blood and gore makes me feel sick?" She spoke, voice small before turning to face him, and meeting his disbelieving eyes.

"Really? You mention that now?"

"Yes, well, now you won't be so shocked when I start emptying my insides all over the ground when this is finished."

"You are unbelievable."

"Yes. I know." She deadpanned, before turning to take her place beside Edmund and leaving a dumbfounded Peter in her wake. He shook his head, before smiling slightly and making his way down the cliffs beside the centaur, and with the rest of the army behind them. The archers stayed behind to be lead by their princess, in the name of Aslan. 

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𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐔𝐋 place to the left of his king, both swords drawn out. Peter was trying to keep up his brave face, but it slipped ever so slightly when one of the griffins that had been flying over the witch's army landed beside him.

"They come, Your Highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own."

"Numbers do not win a battle." The centaur spoke from from the other side of him, in an effort to re-spark even a little bit of confidence into the young king.