Peter
The awful scene of war. The screams of dying men, women and animals. The cloying stench of blood and carnage. This painful screen of war assaulted Lucy as she fought her way through the lines of Calormen swordsmen with her twin knives. Her dark hair whipped around her head as she spun and ducked, slashed and stabbed. The enemy warriors never took her seriously, quick to dismiss the slight, petite 16-year-old girl as a threat. But Lucy was no mere 16-year-old girl. She was a warrior and a queen, and above all, a loving, protective sister. Those that dared to threaten her beloved family rarely made it out alive. Aslan Himself had not crowned her Queen Lucy the Valiant for nothing.
As her daggers made a path through the opposing army, Lucy's eyes searched the battlefield for her eldest brother Peter. Bloody, selfless, noble prat! She complained to herself as she spotted him. He's gone and put himself in trouble again to protect some Narnian Lord. Honestly, Peter, they became lords for a good reason; or are you forgetting that the title of Lord is not hereditary?
Lucy sighed to herself, adjusted her grip, and charged forward once more, angling her path so that she would meet with Peter in very little time. An enemy stepped into her field of vision, a cruel smirk on his face. This man, Lucy thought, is not expecting much resistance from me in the way of fighting. Lucy allowed a fierce smile to grace her features. Well, he thought wrong. She stepped closer to him and brought her left hand up to grasp the other's right wrist, twisting it with enough force that a pained cry escaped his lips as his blade clattered to the floor. She pivoted neatly on one foot and lunged, nestling the blade of her dagger in the side of her opponent. The man gasped and crumpled to the floor, and Lucy didn't hesitate to slide her knife free and continue on her path to the eldest Narnian monarch.
But as she quickly lifted her gaze to light upon her brother, her breath caught in her throat as she realized that he was a moment away from death. A treacherous, cowardly Calormen soldier had faked his own death in order to escape the bite of the High King's sword Rhindon and was sneaking around his back to stab him from behind. Lucy gave an agonised scream of "Pete!" but she could tell it was too late for him to react. As her older brother met her gaze with those warm brown eyes, time stood still, and Lucy knew what to do. She stepped forward with her left foot, brought her right hand up and breathed in: once, twice, three times. Then, as she exhaled the third breath, she drew her hand back and threw her knife at the man.
He never saw it coming.
"Lu!" Peter gasped. "Where did you learn that?" The surprised and grateful young man favoured his sister with a proud, loving smile.
"Questions later." Was the disgruntled reply. "We have a war to win."
And so saying the young queen charged into battle once more, letting loose a wild, clear cry as she went, rallying her troops and strengthening the hearts of those with honour, like the phoenixes of legend (though Lucy was very much alive and real).
High King Peter allowed himself a grin at his sister's antics, then charged after her, yelling his own fearsome song.