Peter's sword dropped from his benumbed fingers, and he sighed, frustrated, at the centaur that had disarmed him.
"Lion bless it!" he growled, massaging his useless arm into function. Orieous frowned slightly, and patted the young humans shoulder reassuringly.
"You'll get used to it, as long as you practice with me. Maybe you should find another teacher. I might be to tough for a beginner like you," the large centaur said, looking at his charge worriedly.
"I don't want another teacher, Orieous! I won't get better with anyone but you," Peter said hotly, the frustration and bitterness in his voice masking a fear of not seeing the tough centaur any less than he already was. It was only a few days till the battle, and Peter was working furiously to get the sword skills necessary to aid his troops in a victory. Orieous was the most likely candidate for teaching him, as he was Peter's advisor, and they both had a nearly identical schedule. This allowed them to train together daily, rather than the once-or-twice a week that Peter would receive from another teacher. Orieous only spent three or so hours a day with Peter, as it was.
Orieous shrugged, and picked up Peter's sword, tossing it to him.
"Let's get started, then," he said, and Peter took to the endless drills and spars with a will.
"Oh, Ed! Please, turn off that lamp!" Peter moaned, and covered his face with his arm. He felt like someone had beaten him with a stick, and in fact, someone had. He had just come in from extra training with Orieous, and he had been resoundingly defeated in a twenty-minute sparring match. Now he was in the tent he shared with Edmund, trying to get a nap in before dinner.
"Nope. I have to go over these battle tactics. If I'm to be your second in command, leading half of your fighting force out there, I sure as heck had better know what I am doing," Edmund retorted, without a note of sympathy in his voice. He knew exactly why his older brother was torturing himself like this, and smiled despite himself.
"How was the sparring match? I heard the cheers," Edmund said tentatively a few moments later. If his brother had lost he could very well lash out at him.
"I lost. But it was a glorious match!" Peter enthused, and started describing to Edmund in intimate detail all the finer points of the match. Edmund listened attentively, gasping and wincing at all the right moments, as well as laughing or cheering. It had been a close match, the last five minutes aside. Both fighters had nearly won the advantage several times, but in the last five minutes Orieous had drawn on a hidden reserve of power and whipped Peter, who was exhausted but fighting doggedly. He had only given up after Orieous nearly cracked his collarbone while placing his sword on his throat for the 'killing blow'.
"Ah, that's too bad I missed it! I was in my archery lesson with Daneus!" Edmund moaned as Peter finished his energetic narrative. Daneus was another centaur, one whom specialised in both archery and swordsmanship, who was Edmund's teacher and advisor. They spent most of the day together each day, learning battle tactics and skills, and the two were friends.
Peter shrugged, and then groaned at the pain of the motion. Edmund grimaced in sympathy, and helped Peter to his feet.
" Come on, then," he said to his older brother, "Let's get some food in you."
A breeze blew by, ruffling Peter's blonde hair playfully as he stood on an outcrop of rock surveying the Narnian campsite. His level blue eyes were troubled-looking, even in the darkness of night, for he had just received a report from one of the griffins on the number of the White Witches troops. It was not a small number. It was daunting, thinking about pitting his 5,000 troops against her 15,000, but it had to be done.
"Penny for your thoughts, my King?" a soft voice said in his ear. Peter had known Orieous was there, having caught the horse-sweat and steel smell that followed the good centaur around like a second shadow. He was standing on the ground below the outcrop, his head level with Peter's.
"Keep your penny, but give me your advice instead," Peter said, heaving a sigh. "Do you think that I am doing the right thing, leading my future people against the Witch like this? Or should I keep more to guerrilla tactics?" Peter sighed again.
"I just wish Aslan was here to tell me!" he growled, turning to face Orieous. The centaur was looking out over the campsite, his liquid brown eyes reflecting the lights of lanterns, torches, and fires from below. Peter couldn't help but look at them.
"Aslan had lain these plans out for you before he and your sisters left. He would not have left them for you if they were not what he had intended for you to do," Orieous said, his baritone voice still soft. He looked at the young King from the corner of his eye, then turned and met Peter's gaze solidly. Peter tried not to melt.
" I can't guarantee that all of us will come out of this alive, but I can promise you one thing, my King," Orieous said, more softly still, so that Peter had to come closer to hear him properly.
"Yes?" Peter murmured, leaning just a bit closer to Orieous. He was hoping against hope that Orieous would say the five words that he most wanted to hear.
"I…" Orieous sighed, looking like he was trying to find the right words to say. Peter's breath caught in his throat.
"I will always… be here to advise you," he finally said, and nodded before cantering away, barely able to restrain from breaking into a run. Peter sighed in disappointment, then returned to his more pressing worries. Personal interests aside, there were other things to think about.
The sun dawned bright and early on the day before the battle. Peter was already up when it rose, having eaten breakfast, washed, and dressed. He was practising his different battle dances, and working up a sweat in the early morning light. Peter was unaware that a pair of appraising eyes was watching him, until he heard the soft sound of shod hooves clip-clopping on the ground.
Peter anticipated the thrust at his midriff, and parried it expertly, swinging his sword around in a half-butterfly, then a reverse crescent swing. The centaur had a height advantage, but Peter was fired up with a fresh batch of adrenaline, and he was already warmed up. The centaur and the teenager battled furiously, gathering a crowd around them. Peter was gaining the advantage on the rather under-prepared Orieous, and it was showing. The centaur's leather armour had small nicks all over it, and he was lacking the manic gleam in his eye that he usually had when a battle was his. Peter gained more ground than lost it, and used his perfected butterfly technique to his immense advantage.
But then – was it fate? -- Peter faltered, and stumbled back a few steps, as Orieous swung at his pupil, ready to place for the killing blow, his manic gleam returning. But in a flash of steel to fast to follow, Peter's secret weapon was revealed – a combination of a butterfly, crescent, parry, and thrust that both disarmed Orieous and placed Peter's sword in for the killing blow.
The crowd cheered wildly, and onlookers swarmed the victor, patting his back and belting out congratulations. An equal number surrounded Orieous, separating the two duellers. Edmund pushed through the crowd, and led the dazed but joyous Peter out through the crowd, and back through to the tent. Peter was still clutching his sword disbelievingly, but he radiated victory from ever atom of his being.
Once in the tent, the two saw that in people's rush to get to the fight, several items had been knocked over due to people bumping into the tent walls. Edmund made Peter sit down on his camp bed, and proceeded to scurry about the tent, tidying up and blathering incessantly about the duel. Peter was silent, mostly, giving monosyllabic responses to any questions aimed directly at him. The two brother's stayed in their tent all day, Peter alternately sitting or lying on his bed, silent and deep in thought, Edmund chattering or filling out some reports. Servers came in with food once or twice for the two future kings.
As dark descended on the camp, Peter seemed to have come to a decision. He stood, and wordlessly pressed Edmund back into his seat as he rose with a question already half out of his mouth and a frown creasing his face, dark hair falling into dark eyes. Peter's eyes met his own and he knew exactly what that look in Peter's eyes meant – it was a wordless plea, a heart-wrenching desire to go and talk to the one person on the world that Peter needed to talk to most. Edmund smiled, and nodded at the door.
"I bet he's waiting for you," he said quietly, and Peter smiled for the first time since the battle had been won.
Peter walked nervously up the path that led to Orieous's tent nervously, the cool night air playing in eddying swirls around his sweat-damp body. He had been to Orieous's tent many times before, arriving there to walk with the centaur before lessons or a council of war, to discuss a techniques or to worry out a strategically problem, but he had never actually been inside.
Peter had always stood a respectful distance from the tent entrance, and called out to his teacher. Orieous would emerge, and they would then go off to lessons or off to a council of war. He had been told to come visit whenever he needed to by Orieous himself, and had been invited inside once, but had declined on the basis of having somewhere to go.
Without knowing it, his traitorous feet had carried him right to the door flap of Orieous's tent, where a light glowed softly through the tightly woven material. Peter could hear the soft rustle of turning pages, and called hoarsely,
"Orieous? May I come in? It's Peter," Peter was sure that the centaur could hear the thunderous beating of his heart. To his mixed relief and horror Orieous's head emerged from the tent flap, and he smiled slightly at Peter.
"Come in," he said in his rich baritone and Peter felt as if he would melt. He stepped through the tent flap tentatively, head bowed and looking pointedly at the floor. When he did look around, he was a bit surprised, as it was the first time Peter had ever been in the large tent. What Peter took to be the bed looked a bit like a stable stall – there were comfortable rugs and cushions in place of hay, with tack and grooming supplies nearby – brushes, combs, and bottles of some mysterious liquid.
Lining the other walls of the large tent were a few low tables and desks – all of a perfect height to accommodate a centaur lying down, so that it could use it's human half to work on crafts or to write-- and bookshelves, containing weapons, books, and other artefacts.
In the centre of the room was another table, with art supplies on it. Pens, sketchbooks, charcoal sticks, colouring agents and brushes littered the surface, and in the centre was an immaculate portrait of Peter himself – as a centaur. Peter moved closer to examine the picture, gently grasping the edge of it before Orieous could hide it, and it was himself, without a doubt.
The detail was exquisite, as was the workmanship. The lines were clear and precise, the colours blending perfectly. Peter's fair blonde hair was slightly longer that it really was, his nose more aquiline, and his clear blue eyes were more rounded and more slanted, all at once. His ears were extended and horse-ish. A promising crop of hair covered Peter's exposed chest tapered down to the navel, then down into the layer of hair the started just beneath his torso, that marked the start of the horse half of his body, which was covered in brown hair, with streaks of gold. Peter's tail was more golden then the rest of the horse-half, but it still leaned heavily on its brown tint.
When Peter finally tore his gaze from the magnificent piece of artwork, he met Orieous's gaze solidly. Orieous looked back, more defiant that abashed.
"It would be a bit of an understatement to say that I am confused," Peter said calmly. He would not let himself get excited about this painting, drawn in seemingly such loving detail. He couldn't afford to let himself be built up on a minute, possibly insinuating clue, only to have he come crashing down into a loveless despair, not this close to the battle.
"It-- it's just a sketch, in preparation for something, an experiment. But I'm almost positive you won't, won't..." Orieous looked pained for a moment, then continued, "return the emotion."
"What emotion, Orieous? If you can't say it right out, then neither of us will know." Peter said, slightly stern. The iron in his voice masked the gold, soft, bending, and ready to give in.
"Love. Affection. Tenderness. Compassion. All these and more fit the bill, Peter!' Orieous cried, the control in his voice breaking. Peter seemed to collapse in on himself, his eyes losing all signs of life. Then light tentatively shone from them, and Peter looked up at Orieous cautiously, willing his voice not to crack,
"Are you serious, or is this some sort of elaborate trick designed to rip my heart to pieces?" Peter said shakily, emotions threatening to spill from his eyes and over his voice. Orieous looked solemn, and shook his head, then smiled wryly.
"A fine pairing we are, my king. A teenager with a tender heart and a centaur with one that's being melted like snow in midsummer. How could I deceive you like that, when I would only be hurting myself in the end?" Orieous said quietly, but forcefully, and turned his back to go and lay a bit dejectedly on what Peter now realised was his bed. Peter stood awkwardly there, in front of the middle table, for a few moments longer, staring at the picture. Then he drifted silently over to the low chair next to where Orieous lay, and sat down.
"A fine pair indeed. Perhaps even a fine couple, if we could ever get the chance. Is that what that drawing was for? To work some sort of magic to turn me into a centaur, so we could be together?" Peter said quietly, gazing out of the open tent flap and into the darkness outside, where a lone star could be seen bravely shining away from it's fellows.
"I had hoped so. But it's not very lasting, and you'll only be transformed for one night. After that, you'd have to make a new drawing and get completely fresh materials, or wait a year for the first spell to work again," Orieous sighed, frustration playing at the edges of his voice. Peter smiled to himself, and turned to face Orieous.
"Well? Are all the materials ready? Because," Peter drew in a breath, and made what felt like the biggest decision of his life," I'd be willing if you are." Orieous's face was very close, and Peter could see every detail on his face reflected in those eyes. Orieous answered Peter's question with a kiss.