A/N: This is a revised version of the one-shot previously posted.
Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia. :(
The council silently watched as their new king called a break in the meeting and slowly levered himself from his seat before trudging out the large oak doors. It was sad to see the once confident young man slumped in defeat before the war even began. They had looked to him for a solution but they were starting to fear that their hero just wasn't up to the task of leading the large country. They could only hope that he would indeed live up to his title of Magnificent.
A dejected Peter Pevensie drifted through the many corridors of his new home, his thoughts in turmoil. They only see me as the High King, their beloved monarch and hero of the war with the White Witch. It's like I can do no wrong in their eyes. But I don't feel at all Magnificent. I feel stressed, I feel confused, singled-out, and more than a little lost; in other words, everything but magnificent. I'm only 19 for Aslan's sake! I don't know how to run a country, and certainly not a full-fledged war! Dear Aslan, what am I supposed to do? I need a sign, a hint, anything!
Peter paused to look around hopefully. However, nothing had changed. The maids were still bustling about. Lucy barreled down the hall, followed by a frazzled looking Susan. The noise of metal clanging in the forge filtered in through the open window. Soon the daunting lack of a sign and the constant bowing from everyone who passed sent Peter dashing off to find solitude.
When Peter finally rose from his, once again, gloomy thoughts he found himself in front of the Hall of Memories. It wasn't actually a hall but a large gallery filled with portraits of former kings and queens; most importantly for Peter it was quiet and empty. So he quickly slipped in, meandering through the room. He took a moment to wonder where the paintings came from. Surely the Witch would not have allowed anything of Old Narnia to survive? However, he soon dismissed the thought in favor of studying the portraits around him. There were stern faced kings and smiling queens, princes on horseback and princesses holding tea parties. Just as Peter began to loose interest and return to his earlier troubles he turned and was abruptly met with a painting he had never noticed before.
It was a depiction of the Last Battle before the Witch's reign. The scene was set in the throne room of Cair Paravel. However it looked nothing like the shining splendor that Peter was familiar with. No, this room was covered in dirt and pools of blood. Antagonists fought in the background, a chaotic mess raging in the shadows of the destroyed hall. The slain bodies of dark creatures lay across the marble floors and statues of warriors littered the battlefield. In contrast to the indistinct shapes behind them, the witch Jadis and her opponent were painted in sharp definition over their muddled surroundings. Jadis' steel grey eyes, cold and hard, glared remorselessly at the creatures dieing around her. She held her wand outstretched, still in the processes of freezing her opponent. And though the grey of stone was spreading from the wand tip at her abdomen, it was still Jadis' victim, a brave warrior maiden, who caught my eye.
First off, she didn't look like a victim at all. Despite her tattered dress and bloody wounds, she stood tall and strong. There was a defiant tilt to her chin. It was clear that even in death she was determined to stand between the Witch and the four thrones she was defending. Indeed she cut an striking figure, with blazing hazel eyes framed by a mane of deep chocolate brown curls, and shod in nothing but the gruesome mix of mud and blood that coated the throne room floor. Her untamed beauty sharply reminded Peter of Aslan's fearful visage as the great lion pounced upon Jadis in the Battle of Beruna. And although the woman had neither claws or razor sharp teeth, the bloodstained sword clutched she clutched was obviously lethal enough to get the job done.
Peter was astounded this ancient beauty. To look death in the face and glare right back was a feat of courage he could barely imagine. What's more, she had died defending the throne he now sat upon. She and so many others had sacrificed everything to see Narnia free, and he would be damned before he backed down where they had risen to the occasion.
With one last glance and a respectful bow for the nameless maiden, Peter strode purposefully away towards the council chambers. I will do my best to win this war. And even if I fail, I will face the end with my sword in my hand and head held high defending my home and my people. Narnia deserves nothing less.
The change was obvious for the council members to see as their young king returned and sat meticulously planning the upcoming war. His clear azure eyes blazed with life and his firm mouth was set with determination. In later months, when the time came to fight, his steely resolve when leading troops on the battlefield completely overwhelmed the enemy. He was everything his people had hoped for, leading them to a wondrous victory. No one ever again doubted that he was indeed High King Peter the Magnificent.
A/N 2: Please review! I can't get decent constructive criticism anywhere else.