The Pevensies: The Art of Adjusting

Peter Lashes Out (Part 1)

Monday 1st September, 1941 (7:53am)
Platform 2, Angel Tube Station, East London

(The Pevensies return from their second trip to Narnia.)

"Only 3 minutes, we haven't missed the train!" Lucy announced, looking towards the large hanging clock.

The youngest Pevensie watched her older sister draw her eyes away from where the last spot of the Narnian sky disappearing.

"Yes... I suppose that's good..." Susan began to reply to her sister, rather distractedly as she blinked back tears. Her reply was swiftly cut off, however, by a familiar looking group of boys approaching.

"Ooh look! Eddie, dearest, that's slightly... queer, isn't it?" Tucker sneered, looking as if Christmas had come early.

"Oh my! That's his brother, too!"

The boys, who coincidently had been the gang who had attacked Edmund (only yesterday in this world) had just rounded the corner. Their attention had been instantly drawn to the interlinked hands of the siblings (of whom, may I remind you, had just stepped through an inter-dimensional portal from their home world). Edmund had, unfortunately, been at Peter's right hand side. Despite the situation, and the tension that swept over the 4, Edmund couldn't help but feel an inch of pride as he looked at Tucker's black eye.

Peter launched himself forward. Lucy didn't even have chance to finish the cry of his name before she saw it. Before she saw that look. That look, that The Magnificent King wore during battle, the anger, the determination swarming in his eyes. The determination to injure whatever stood in his way. That look that almost always meant inevitable death. That look, which was, in this moment, accompanied by an animalistic growl that had escaped her brother's throat.
It scared her.

The High King grabbed the ring-leader's collar, punching him square in the face.

Once.

Banished.

Twice.

Never to return.

A third time.

Nor Susan.

A fourth.

We would have died for you!

A fifth.

You made me King! High King Peter, the Magnif-

           
"Peter! Stop! Oh Aslan! You'll kill him!" He heard his sister's cries grow more desperate between blows, yet it took him longer than it should have for him to process this.

"I told you to- stay- away." He growled, his sister's screams and the fear in the boy's pleas of 'please Sir', only fuelling his adrenaline. "Do not say a single word to my brother. My brother is the Just King of Narnia. He's a bigger man than you'll ever be. Aslan give me mercy, or I'll justly wait for a train and push you if you so much as look at my family again."

He threw one more punch before looking, inspecting, the boy in his grip. He was fighting to stay conscious, like Edmund had been 'yesterday'. Good. But this wasn't enough. The fire grew inside him as he planted his fist into the boy's gut. He turned and dragged the boy to the side of the tracks. Peter hadn't seen the crowd and so it was only later that he would wonder why no one had stepped in. After all, in this world, we was nothing more than a very angry 17-year-old boy. It would take no more than 3 men to restrain him with ease.

But you see, Peter was unaware of the aura he admitted. For a reason unbeknown to the spectators, they couldn't step in. They felt that for some reason, they had no right to go against this boy. Almost, just almost, as if he was royalty.