Author's Note: This is a story begun some time ago, but which I feel the need to continue, for reasons of principle which will hopefully be revealed to you later. It is, essentially, an attempt to explain something I noticed at the end of the LWW movie, something which greatly disturbed me and has not stopped disturbing me since. With this said, it is my hope that you will join me in reveling in the predicaments to come.
Disclaimer: I own neither Narnia nor the Pevensies. Nor a life, apparently.
An Issue of Protocol
by lurkisblurkis
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Prologue
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The two warriors faced each other on the field of battle, sweat streaming down their faces, blades held high despite shaking hands. They circled each other slowly. Each knew that the time for action, for blood, was drawing swiftly near, that they had but moments either to stay the course of the future, or to let it unfold.
"Listen to me," pleaded the taller of the two. "I never wanted it to happen this way. You must not do this thing—you must see reason!"
"The time for reason is past, brother!" roared the other man. "It passed when you made the choice that you did! Now there is no going back!"
Around them, the spectators, huddled into a crowded mass but keeping their distance from the impending fray, held their collective breath as the mail-clad figures continued their dance of war. One golden-haired maiden moved to rush forward, her face a mask of anguish, but before she could so much as take her first step she was restrained by another.
"There is nothing you can do," whispered her sister. "This is the end."
The golden-haired maiden turned her face away and wept bitterly.
"You gave me your word," the older man was saying now. He made no attempt to disguise the turmoil in his face. "You swore we would do this together!"
For one moment, the other man paused, uncertainty flitting across his features. He gazed into his enemy's eyes, and those with enough courage to be watching thought for a single, desperate instant that perhaps there might be hope.
The silence was unbearable.
But then the younger man's eyes hardened. "I chose my path long ago," he hissed. "And I intend to follow it."
He raised his blade high and the tip of it gleamed in the dying sunlight.
"I'm sorry, Peter."
The blade came down.