𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃 || Tirian of Narnia

Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

"Nothing ever ends poetically.
It ends and we turn it into poetry.
All that blood was never once beautiful.
It was just red." — Kait Rokowski

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A/N: I cannot express with words just how much this story means to me, except to say that Tirian has been my favorite character since I was six years old, and I have poured so much of myself into him that the lines between us are rather blurred in my mind. Needless to say, this series contains no small piece of my soul, and I cannot thank you enough for coming on this journey with me! I hope you enjoy!

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"They are better here, as they are,
untamed and errant phantoms
of a brilliance whose emanations
no one mortal lifetime could ever
accommodate in full." — Nick Tosches

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CHAPTER ONE:
THE BEGINNING OF THE END

The sun hung low in the sky, beating down onto the pale golden paving stones of Cair Paravel's northern courtyard as the last days of June quivered in anticipation of July's heat, and Tirian yelped from his unsteady perch atop a stack of hay bales, leaning precariously to one side as he slashed at his equally precarious sparring partner on the opposite stack.

"Hey!" barked the boy, "I didn't ask you to cut my hand off!"

Tirian steadied himself with a grin as the suspended hay bale shifted under his weight. "This thing isn't even sharp." He waved the wooden practice sword and took his next defensive stance. "Besides, if this was a real fight, I think that means I won."

The other boy squared his shoulders and blew a dark curl out of his face. "Good thing it's not a real fight, then." He calculated for a moment and swung his own wooden blade, sweeping under Tirian's defense and jabbing him in the chest.

"Ay—" He squeaked and wobbled backwards, righting himself just in time to save his balance.

"Hah!"

"Hosha, you little—"

"Boys!" a voice snapped from below, sharp and commanding as ever. "What do you think you're doing?"

They both looked to see a girl striding across the courtyard from the north gate at a brisk pace, dark hair fluttering over her shoulders, skirts swishing from tightly balled fists.

"Having fun?" answered Tirian.

"Why is it," asked the girl, halting several paces away and eyeing their precarious setup with extreme distaste, "that whenever the two of you have fun, somebody almost loses an eye."

"Well, it's no fun without the risk," grinned Tirian. "Come on, Mal, you used to be fun."

"No, she didn't," muttered Hosha, but Mal ignored him.

"I never did that." She nodded to their shifting towers of hay, and then her eyes fell to the stables behind them. "Jewel! You're letting them get away with this?"

The Unicorn lifted his head from polishing his horn against his creamy white flank, laughter registering as a low nicker. "Do you think I could stop them even if I wanted to?"

Mal sighed, and Hosha shot Tirian a dry look.

"Just because she's nineteen now she thinks she can boss us around."

"Well, I'm almost seventeen, that's got to count for something."

By almost seventeen, of course, he meant nearly four months away from seventeen, but less than half a year seemed sufficient enough to qualify as almost.