𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝑨𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑, peter pevensie

𝒙𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒗 . . . the cair paravel conundrum

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 ruins they were standing on were of their old home, couldn't help herself from saying, "I don't remember Cair Paravel being surrounded by islands . . . neither being one its self. It was more of a peninsula, wasn't it?" Susan nodded in agreement, both girls lifted themselves up higher on their toes to see the islands covered in green dotted all around them.

Peter shook his head and looked at what remained of the throne room walls, biting back a smile. The five dispersed again, Edmund taking a great deal of interest in half of a standing wall, and some jagged boulders surrounding it. The red head had taken to standing back up on the small spiral of stairs again, examining the way the sand stone had been left to fall and crumble away into Aslan's scared ground.

They both exchanged the same glance, each of them taking up a piece of rock in their hands, "Catapults." This had caught the attention of the remaining three, who were looking at the both of them in comedic turn. Charlotte descended the stairs, and came to a stop beside the younger boy, folding her arms and kicking at a pile of fallen green leaves. "This didn't just happen." Edmund turned to glance at them from where he was kneeling.

"Cair Paravel was attacked." Charlotte finished, dropping the piece of sandstone on the ground crawling with weeds, as it broke in two when it made contact. Susan and Lucy exchanged another glance, while Peter directed his attention from the sour looking Charlotte, and to the wall of ivy before them.

He walked over to it, and tossed an old tree branch resting up against the side of the wall to the side, as he and Edmund pushed the wall away to reveal a withered wooden door. There was a lion engraved upon the handle, but, as Susan pointed out, the door was locked, and they could not get in without a key.

"It must have been like this for hundreds of years," Charlotte traced the knots and curls in the soft planks, then inspected the residue on the tips of her fingers, "It has look! It must be rotten by now, I'm sure we could open it someway or other,"

And open it someway or another they did, with the help of Peter's ever present pocket knife. He put it to use again by tearing away a part of his shirt, then tied it around the end of the branch he'd discarded earlier. "You don't happen to have any matches, do you?" He asked Edmund, for the passageway of stairs leading downwards had been pitch black, and the older boy had every intention of crafting a sort of make-shift torch.

In turn he looked at the two with bags, the girl shook her head but Edmund reached for something else, "Erm, no," He looked around in his satchel for a moment, before producing an electric torch, "But would this help?"

The girls laughed, knowing it was in there along ( hence the puzzled looks sent to the oldest Pevensie ) as Peter gestured for him to enter first after chucking the hand-crafted torch away, "You might have mentioned that a bit sooner?" The Pevensie sisters followed, with Charlotte trailing behind the cracked stairs, Peter's hand resting gently on the small of her back.