Looking back on the movie from an adult point of view (or now that I'm older, at any rate), the fact that Peter doesn't seem too affected or traumatized by the battle slightly puzzles me (I know Narnia was an adventure/fantasy movie for young children, it doesn't aim to deal with psychological reactions and the characters' emotions, but I just thought I could bring it there), so I kind of worked on that a little. I won't be going into detail like PTSD and stuff though, as it isn't the aim of this story (or poor Thorin would be having a very hard time).
Anyway, enjoy! Because this 'fic is almost over! *sniffles*
The distinct resonating sound of metal clashing against metal was the only thing Peter could make out, and it felt like hours now that his ears were only capable of hearing that one single thing, hearing lives being taken and scars being acquired, and while he tried not to dwell on it too much, it still made him feel sick to his stomach.
But he had no choice, a part of him though grimly, it was either him or them, and while the idea of taking someone's life away from them, even if the alternative was the same fate for him, it felt like a scarcely credible excuse for him. His arm was sore, his legs demanded a break, and his whole body, now bruised and aching, wished for nothing more than a few minutes to recover, but as more rattling sounds were heard from across the battlefield, Peter barely had time to look up and felt his shoulders almost immediately sag in defeat as the Witch started moving forward with the huge part of the army that she hadn't sent forward. How were they ever going to hold all of them off when they were already exhausted?
The clashing continued raging all around him, and as the sorceress's chariot started advancing towards them, the elder Pevensie felt his heart hammeing in his chest as he realized that he was alone, he couldn't make out any particular Narnian, and looking around frantically for Oreus and Thorin, he couldn't spot either of them admits the sea of armor and creatures surrounding him. While he knew he ought not to let his fears take hold of him, Peter was still a boy, a boy who had no experience of war, and what little he was going through right now, he was hating every moment of it. He needed somebody there, just knowing someone he knew was behind him to give him a little bit of courage, but as he desperately searched for his general's silver helmet or Thorin's distinct black hair, Peter couldn't make out anything, nothing at all, and the realization that he was now alone terrified him.
However, as he managed to cut down one of the minotaurs that had tried pulling him down by his side, the blonde's gaze swept across the battlefield in front of him, eyes settling on the White Witch, the woman who'd caused his brother both harm and nightmares. If anything, he would do his best take her down, he owed Edmund at least that much, and as he strenghtened the promise he'd just made to his brother, he also tried to stop the tremors running through his arm. He was terrified, and as the shock of his weapon clashing with another sent spasms down his limb, Peter's resolve crumbled just a little. He'd never been told of this, what war really was, and now that he was in the middle of the clash, unable to even attempt an escape, he was trapped between what he wanted to do and what his body was going to let him do. The elder brother wanted to make the Witch pay for what she'd put his brother through, she deserved nothing less, but as Peter tried getting a firm grip on his sword, his body betrayed his own will, barely even able to keep hold of the weapon. Peter had never been told this was what soldiers went through, he'd always assumed each man fought bravely, with honor and willpower giving them the strength they needed, it was all he'd ever known. And it had all been a lie. War was not noble, war didn't offer you a chance to put up a valiant fight for somebody you cared for, war was assuring your own survival by robbing others of their lives so that you could hope to live another day, and no matter how much pain you were in, you would keep on cutting down one person after another just to ensure the continuation of your own existence, even if it would mean you would live the rest your days ridden with guilt and blood forever on your hands.
Just the mere thought made him sick, as Peter finally registered that since the two armies had finally met, he'd already ended more than one life. Yes, had he not, he might have found himself terribly injured right now, but did that give him a right to kill somebody else? Did that give him a right to swing his weapon left and right without even looking at whoever he was about to kill in the eye with no hint of remorse because it would allow him to live on? No, it did not, and as another minotaur aimed for his side, Peter only half-heartedly brought his sword up in defense, trying to maneuver his unicorn so that he could get out of the way without having to kill the beast, because no matter how badly the hybrid might want to take his life, Peter did not want to have to kill it. Fleeing might be perceived as cowardly, but the blonde would rather that than have to stick his sowrd through another creature.
Panic building up inside him, Peter felt the need for reassurance, and as he managed to get a good grip on his unicorn's mane once more, he searched around the battlefield, desperate to find somebody he knew and could go to, knowing he couldn't bare to be alone a moment longer. As blue eyes frantically looked in every direction, the elder brother felt his breath hitching as he couldn't make out friend from foe, couldn't find any remotely familiar figure, couldn't run in any direction until he thought he spotted black and white. Deistressed now, Peter latched onto the little hope the colors gave him and grabbed hold of his stallion's mane as he urged it to Minty, for he knew there was only one pony with that color, and only one person that could possibly be riding it.
"Thorin!" He called out desperately, hoping he'd be heard above the sound of steel and metal meeting eachother in a deathly duel.
The dwarf looked up as he managed to hear the call from the younger boy, and whatever relief he'd had as he'd heard the blonde sibling call out for him fled as soon as he spotted one of the minotaurs making for Peter, axe raised up and well intended to end the child's life.
"Peter! Get down!" It was all he could do, he was too far to reach him and the few seconds before the weapon would fall down would not be enough for Pepper to get him to the boy, Thorin realized. Once again, he'd failed to protect people he cared about, people who deserved to live their life as much as they could and not fight at the cost of a part of them they would never get back. Digging his legs into the pony's side, and mentally thinking how sorry he was for urging the small animal beyond the speed it could muster, Thorin tried to get to the blonde, tried to save him, knowing he would never forgive himself if, once again, he got to see someone he cared about die when only a few meters separated them.
But it was not enough.
At Thorin's call, Peter's heartbeat suddenly sped up, and the blood pounding in his ears was once again the only sound he could make out. Everything seemed to have slowed down, as he could see the dwarf urging Pepper beyond what the poor pony was capable of towards him, sword held high and crying out something to him he could not hear. Slowly, the blonde turned around, as he thought he couild make out a low growl behind him, and his eyes went wide as they landed on the sharp blade the minotaur was about to send down on him. Peter knew he should move, knew he ought to press his legs into his unicorn's side as hard as he could so that they'd be out of here, he knew he ought to bring his sword up to defend himself, and yet, none of those thoughts crossed his mind as his eyes locked on the sharp spear that was about to cut him through, followed it's movement as it went down, down, down. Only then did Peter shut his eyes, realizing what was about to happen to him. He knew a soldier should not fear Death, that it was bound to happen to each and every one of them, but he couldn't help it, and before he could control his own instincts, he'd scrunched his eyes closed and turned his head away, waiting for the blow. The only thought he could muster was I'm so sorry Edmund knowing he'd failed to protect his little brother, knowing Edmund was going to see him get killed and see the broken promise Peter had once again not managed to keep.
Yet the final blow never came, Peter felt his chest constrict, but sweet air was still coming in, he was still alive. Almost hesitantly, he cracked one eye open –only to wish he never had as the blue irises widened in horror almost instantly, the bloodied tip of a spear only inches away form him, imbedded in the body of one of his soldiers, who must have put himself between his king and the oncoming weapon to save him, to save his life at the cost of it's own. Peter's mouth opened in a silent sceam, already wishing he could turn back time, change what had been done, anything, anything at all. He didn't want such a future for the Narnians, who were getting slaughtered all around him, he didn't want them to risk their lives for an incompetent boy like him, he didn't want any of it, and yet, it had happened, the centaur crumbling down in front of him, lifeless brown eyes staring up, unseeing, at the grey sky above, never to know what living in peace would be like, never to return to it's family, never to get the chance to live the life it ought to have had, and all that because of his incompetence and inability to look out for himself.
He'd barely registered the fading of life in the shattered creature when the minotaur lifted it's weapon back up, well intending to end the young boy's life, and for a split second, Peter felt both fear and acceptance. His instincts screamed at him to run away, even if it was the coward's choice, it would mean that he'd live, but then, why would he deserve to live when him not paying attention to his surroundings had cost someone else their very existence? What made his life more valuable than any of the others out here? The fact that he was supposed to be king? Peter could almost scoff at that, he was no king, a king did not fear Death, a king did not let his soldiers get butchered while he fended merely for his own life. Almost acceptingly, dull blue eyes traced the weapon about to end his life a second time, Thorin's cry and his unicorn's fearful whinny going unheard as he watched the weapon fall again, this time knowing he was more than likely going to die, but he'd accept it, it was the price to pay for being such an incompetent leader.
A mighty swoosh flashing in front of him, bringing with it a wall of flames was Peter's saving grace, and as his eyes followed the winged animal, he silently thanked the phoenix for sparing his life, knowing now that it was up to him to make things better. Immediately turning his unicorn back, he heaved a sigh of relief as Thorin and an out-of-breath Pepper managed to somehow find them admits the chaos that the battlefield had become. Maybe it was a little selfish to be thinking of himself at such a dire moment, but right then, Peter felt glad that he wasn't alone anymore.
"What should we do now?" The blond managed to cry loud enough to be heard over the cheering Narnians, who had managed to block off the Witch thanks to the flaming barrier. Peter wouldn't fool himself though, they'd come up with a plan to charge at her, but they hadn't really had enough time to discuss anything further, except really just trying to hold out as long as possible, and the elder brother knew that without a plan, things were more than likely going to turn out badly if they didn't come up with some king of strategy, and quickly.
Thorin spared a glance to the shifting creature blocked by the flames, knowing this was just a short respite they'd been offered. The flames would eventually die out, and while he was glad for the short time it allowed his aching arm to rest and spare a glance to the cliffs where he knew Edmund and Fili were still standing, he knew they would eventually have to go back to fight, even if they didn't want to or were too exhausted.
"We could try bringing them to the cliffs, the narrow passageway is sure to slow them down, it might make it easier for us to take them out." The uncle suggested, and while he'd rather not bring harm to Peter's younger brother or his nephew, it might just be what they needed to trap the Witches' army, corner it in the tight passageway to defeat it faster.
Peter had been about to agree, actually half cursing himself for not having even thought of such a thing earlier when a bright spark of blue flashed just behind him, and he could feel his exhausted muscles tighten in anxiety once more as he could only watch in defeat as the Witch made her way through the flames, her icy wand having managed to breach the wall. Thorin's idea seemed like the only hope they had then. Knowing it was only a matter of seconds before she'd reach the Narnians, Peter knew the safer option would be to try and save as many of them as he could rather than have unnesesary casualties, for more than enough blood had been shed already, in his account.
"Fall back!" He hollered, hoping his suddenly small voice would be heard over the echoes of animal cries and thumping hooves. "Fall back to the cliffs!" He said again, drawing his sword and directing those around him to the relative safety the narrow passage would offer them, making sure as many of them as possible passed him before spurring his unicorn to follow them himself, Pepper hot on his heals.
Edmund had tried to keep an eye on his brother, he really had, but from up where he was, it was so difficult to make out who was who in the turmoil below, and once Peter had drowned in the sea of soldiers, he hadn't stopped pacing back and forward furiously, trying to ease his worries and convincing himself that Peter would make it back to him, because he was Peter, and there was nothing in the world that Peter could no do. Mister Beaver had tried to calm him down, had tried talking to him and encouraged him to take a break until the signal was given to them, but Emdund would hear none of it, and if Fili felt biting his lip bloody was a way of coping with being separated from his family, Edmund took to pacing frantically, even going to ignore his aching feet.
The black haired boy didn't think he could get any more scared than he was already, chest almost exploding with all the anxieties he was now harboring when Mister Beaver's cry brought him back, and the distant sound of metal clashing against metal rung once again in his ear.
"There! There he is!" The little rodent was pointing down, tugging Edmund's sleeve along with him and forcing the boy to crouch down beside him, brown eyes frantically searching the small valley below for what their friend was pointing at. At first, the younger Pevensie couldn't find it, all the red armors merging into one familiar creature, an unnamed Narnian he'd probably never know in person, until white flashed in the corner of his eyes, and Edmund could swear he let out a sob of relief. "Peter!" He cried out, the tightness of his chest loosening just a little as he followed the white unicorn in the middle of the Narnians heading back towards them. His brother was safe, he'd made it back to him just as he'd promised.
"Peter's all right Fili!" He exclaimed, not caring in the slightest if he was the only one right then to find hapiness admist a battlefield. His brother was all right, and right now, Edmund didn't think anything could make him more relieved. "Peter made it back!" He said it again, this time to make sure the words were right, to solidify the image he was seeing below, to make what he hoped was happening truly happen. But as he turned to the other, he noticed the blonde wasn't partaking in his new found joy, and immediately, Edmund's spirits crumbled Of course, you idiot! His Uncle is still out there! And anxiously, Edmund went back to searching the returning troops, desperate to spot a small black and white pony among them, but there was no way to tell one creature from another from where he stood, and despite his best efforts, the younger brother didn't spot the darker haired dwarf. But surely he'd made it back too, right? Thorin had said he was a warrior himself, he'd been in battle and already experienced this first hand, so surely, Edmund thought, he would know what to do, right? But a freezing lump settled deep down in his stomach, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he started thinking along the opposite lines. He wasn't very knowlegable at war, and knew next to nothing about wielding the sword he had at his side, safe for the few things Thorin and Fili had shown him, but maybe experience didn't help in war, he thought grimly, and that no matter how skilled one was, Death could always greet him, even if one had spent his whole life training to push it back for another day. Skill wasn't what assured one's life in war, knowledge of how to wield a weapon when one was faced with danger was useless if one didn't know how to wield it physically, and for the first time, Edmund realized that the dwarf he'd seen as invincible was just another body that had been sent out there, another common soldier among the Narnian army that had just as much chance at meeting his Maker than the next.
Indeed, Thorin's insecurities shot up once he felt himself being separated from Peter, and although he knew the creatures surrounding him were all retreating Narnians, it did very little to soothe the fact that he was, in fact, alone. Despite being aware that these were friends he was fighting alongside with, he knew none of them, and the dwarf would much rather have had at least one familiar face with him at the moment, knowing that the small repieve could work wonders. Steering Pepper both left and right, trying to avoid colliding with minotaurs and escape the arrows that kept raining on them, the dwarf tried his best to strike out when he could, but his small size put him at a disadvantage, being only able to reach legs when hitting an arm or a torso would have been much more effective. Still, he fought like he'd been taught to, like what was expected from a son of Durin, silently hoping he'd eventually manage to catch up with at least one of the Narnians, even though he knew hoping was a very dangerous thing to do when one was at war.
Flickers of browns, blacks and the occasional red flashed across his eyes, Thorin desperately trying to get closer to the latter, but the beam of color seemed to vanish after he'd barely managed to take a step towards it, and what little hope had flourished within him as he spooted it quickly died away, leaving him once again all alone in a turmoil of minotaurs and trolls that would soon be surrounding him. Thorin knew he ought not to let his fears get the better of him, it was what he'd told Peter as they'd waited for the Witches' army to appear, but there was only so much one could do to control his emotions when overwhealmed by fear and fighing for one's life. But still, he knew he could not give up, he'd given his word to Peter that he'd do his best, and Thorin knew the only way he'd stop fighting was when his own life would be taken away from him a second time, something he was not going to let happen so easily, knowing there was still too much he was leaving behind for him to accept defeat.
And then, he didn't know if it was by Mahal's blessings or no but he was immensely grateful, he spotted it, the shining white coat of Peter's unicorn only a few feet away form him and all but pulling him over. Spurred on by the familiar figure, Thorin urged Pepper into a gallop once more, desperate to reach the younger, knowing the boy was certainly in need of assistance right now, if not to fight off the Witches' soldiers, at least to cope with what the battle itself was doing to him, for Thorin knew no child would ever be able to come away from such a conflict unscathed, even if Peter had tried to hide those fears away in favor of leading them all.
"Peter!" At his name, the blonde spared a glance backwards, a part of him cursing himself for not paying more attention for potential harm but the part that was too relieved as it linked the voice with Thorin won over, and the elder Pevensie felt his chest swell with reassurance as, indeed, the darker haired dwarf seemed to be getting closer and closer to him by the second. For a split moment, Peter forgot what he'd been taught about how to look out for himself, too relieved was he that he was finally with someone he knew, someone who was more than a nameless face with the golden lion sigil upon their armour.
Not caring about anything then, Peter turned his mount to the smaller black and white pony, already wishing he could somwhow fly over the obstacles in his way to be with the other immediately. Instead, the boy still had to fight his way through, each swing draining his arm more and more, the screams of the dying creatures ringing in his ears. But still, Thorin's frame was becoming bigger, the edges more distinct and he was so close he could almost swear he saw the relieved smile upon the familiar face. But of course, it was too good to be true.
So focused on reuniting with the dwarf was he that Peter did not see Ginnabrick perched atop the cliffs, crossbow in hand and eyes following the boy king as he made his way over to his friend. The Witches' loyal servant knew that were he to report that he'd managed to kill the future High King of Narnia, he would be praised forever, and that certainly looked like an enjoyable future for him. Taking his aim and following the white beast, the dwarf notched the arrow and in the following moment, let it go, rejoicing as the unicorn fell to the ground, the boy thrown off the creature and sent crashing down with it. It would be only a matter of minutes now before he died, either impaled by a sword or crushed beneath one of the Witches' creatures.
Peter's breath caught in his throat the moment he felt himself flung off the unicorn's back and hitting the ground below. No longer being able to conceal his panick then, he tried controlling his breath, tried calming down, but couldn't. The Witches' army was catching up, and if he didn't move, he was going to be either trampled to death or simply run through by the first blade that found his body. He had no other choice but to move, but as his head turned back, catching the now empty eyes of what had been his loyal steed, he found he couldn't move. Once again, he'd cost a Narnian it's very existence, it's very life, and there was no way he was ever going to be able to repay them that sacrifice. He knew he ought to honor it by doing what he could to stay alive, but Peter couldn't do it anymore, he was too scared to even think about going on. If he got up, he knew it was only to have to fight again, run his sword through as many creatures as he could to make sure he'd make it back alive to Edmund, and the thought made him sick. Maybe it was better that he died out here, even if that terrified him too, dying alone out on the battlefield, with nobody to wish him farewell, hold his hand as he departed, become just a nameless and unrecognizable body left to rot.
Besides, as he turned back, he could see her, the Witch advancing towards him, nothing standing in her way now. This had been a hopeless battle to begin with, there was no way they were possibly going to manage to hold her off, so why hold on any longer, Peter thought grimly, what had he left? Why should he still live while countless others died around him?
The answer came when a hand extended towards him, Peter squinting against the sunlight as he tried to make out who it was as he extended a hand towards the offered help. Even standing, he would be taller than Thorin mounted upon his pony, and now that his had fallen, there was no way Peter was ever going to manage to flee (not that he'd wanted to do such a thing either).
"W-What now?" He asked, voice now hollow as he took in the corpses littering the ground all around him, and coughed a little, trying to ease his aching ribs, which were surely damaged given the pain that flared up when he tried to move.
"Can you walk?" Thorin asked anxiously, looking around and hoping he'd have a chance to help the blonde up and away from immediate danger at least. The path looked relatively safe, until his eyes fell on the Witch, who was now much too close for comfort. He needed to get Peter away, and quickly, or he knew the boy would suffer much worse than a few broken bones. "Up! You have to run, now!" He urged, hating to have to force Peter to move when the lad had more than likely broken something, but knowing it was the only way the blonde would live. He had to retreat.
Peter was still blinking away the dizziness from his fall though, and Thorin's words seemed like a far off sound in the distance. He knew he had to get up, he knew he had to fight, but he was just so exhausted, that when he pushed both hands down in order to get up, the blonde ended up collapsing on himself. Panicking as he realized that he could not get back to his feet, with or without Thorin's help, Peter tried to reach something, anything, for help, something he could use to haul himself up that would be steadier than the dwarf's short arms, and he'd only managed to get to his knees when Oreus passed him by. It took him a second to register who exactly was now behind him, and another second to realize what exactly the general had intended to do, but as he turned around, eyes wide and the scream of denial he'd wanted to let out caught in his throat, as both boy and dwarf froze, the centaur heading straight for the Witch, trying to buy them time to escape. Peter didn't know if he ought to hope anymore, this was becoming a bloodbath he felt responsible for, even while many a Narnian was now behind him, fleeing to live a few moments longer. He knew his general was incredibly skilled, he knew the centaur was more than capable of wielding his weapon, and yet, as the Witches' wand hit him, Peter, now frozen in fear, realized just to what extent they were truly going to be decimated, as his once proud general became nothing more than a stone figure lost in the turmoil of the battlefield.