Alright...here goes on the Narnia story. I am interested in what you guys have to say...
The combat had been going roughly for him. His face throbbed and his shoulder felt as if someone had lit a fire inside it. Sweat soaked his hair and face, and his breathing was verging on gasps. A sword in one hand and a shield loosely hanging from another, the young man stepped back into the combat area. The fate of an entire world rested on his now bruised shoulders. The reward of the fight: a total surrender. The punishment for defeat: instant death.
The threat of it began creeping slowly in his heart like an icy wind that springs suddenly from an already cloudy sky. It wasn’t so much the thought of death that made his throat dry and his pulse quicken.
It was the countless lives that hinged on this victory.
“Are you ready, King Peter?” asked the opponent. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke the title. In his mind the young man before him was nothing but a boy, a skilled boy yes, but nonetheless a child just out of his
teens. He himself was not a greatly talented fighter, and this he knew well. A bandaged leg told him that. But experience was on his side, and the young were quick to fatal mistakes. One matter was left to deal with after this was settled: the ousting of certain lords in his cabinet. There was something going on between the Lords Sopespian and Glozelle, always speaking in hushed tones and disappearing down dark hallways when he came their way. It was them who had cornered him into this accursed combat in the first place. To his further his annoyance, the two had not carried out the secret order he had charged them with. Several times the fight had gotten too close for comfort, and yet no shafts had struck his opponent. If it happened again, they were sure to be beheaded after his victory.
“Are you ready, King Peter?” restated Miraz.
"Are you?" whispered a voice from the sidelines. He too was a young man, a bit younger than the combatee, with the same boyish face. There was a sword hanging at his side, and his fingers brushed the hilt every so often, the feeling of steel a reassuring substance. If things went horribly wrong and Peter was struck down, this sword would come out in a moment to defend his fallen brother. Whether the High King liked it or not. Just before the combat, Peter had strictly ordered him not to rush to his aid at anytime during the duel, even if death were imminent.
Chivalry now battled with worry inside this young man as he watched this fatal battle. After all, he was King Edmund the Just. And justice had to be delivered to those who hurt his family, right? Every muscle in his body was tense as he prepared for this next round of furious blows.
Peter nodded his consent to Miraz, although in reality he was anything but ready. The bruises on his face were beginning to throb and there was no way he could use his shield properly now that his shoulder felt on fire. But although his chances of victory were looking slim, the young king could not help but notice a sort of weariness that clung to his opponent. Miraz’s eyes shone with contempt and confidence, but his body was tiring. Peter now decided to try and use this to his advantage.
With a resounding yell he rushed forward, steel clashing steel as the usurper’s sword blocked the savage blow the High King delivered. The parry was surprisingly strong and threw Peter off balance.
It was the countless lives that hinged on this victory.
“Are you ready, King Peter?” asked the opponent. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he spoke the title. In his mind the young man before him was nothing but a boy, a skilled boy yes, but nonetheless a child just out of his
teens. He himself was not a greatly talented fighter, and this he knew well. A bandaged leg told him that. But experience was on his side, and the young were quick to fatal mistakes. One matter was left to deal with after this was settled: the ousting of certain lords in his cabinet. There was something going on between the Lords Sopespian and Glozelle, always speaking in hushed tones and disappearing down dark hallways when he came their way. It was them who had cornered him into this accursed combat in the first place. To his further his annoyance, the two had not carried out the secret order he had charged them with. Several times the fight had gotten too close for comfort, and yet no shafts had struck his opponent. If it happened again, they were sure to be beheaded after his victory.
“Are you ready, King Peter?” restated Miraz.
"Are you?" whispered a voice from the sidelines. He too was a young man, a bit younger than the combatee, with the same boyish face. There was a sword hanging at his side, and his fingers brushed the hilt every so often, the feeling of steel a reassuring substance. If things went horribly wrong and Peter was struck down, this sword would come out in a moment to defend his fallen brother. Whether the High King liked it or not. Just before the combat, Peter had strictly ordered him not to rush to his aid at anytime during the duel, even if death were imminent.
Chivalry now battled with worry inside this young man as he watched this fatal battle. After all, he was King Edmund the Just. And justice had to be delivered to those who hurt his family, right? Every muscle in his body was tense as he prepared for this next round of furious blows.
Peter nodded his consent to Miraz, although in reality he was anything but ready. The bruises on his face were beginning to throb and there was no way he could use his shield properly now that his shoulder felt on fire. But although his chances of victory were looking slim, the young king could not help but notice a sort of weariness that clung to his opponent. Miraz’s eyes shone with contempt and confidence, but his body was tiring. Peter now decided to try and use this to his advantage.
With a resounding yell he rushed forward, steel clashing steel as the usurper’s sword blocked the savage blow the High King delivered. The parry was surprisingly strong and threw Peter off balance.
Just the opening Miraz had been looking for.
Suddenly the Telmarine came to life. The young king had little time to react as he barely blocked blow after blow, first from a sword, then from a shield. Peter found himself giving ground, backing slowly to one side of the combat lines. He had to do something or he would fall! But there was no time, and Miraz bashed his shield with full force into the face of his opponent. A white light flashed within his skull and his ears rang like a thousand bells tolling at once. Somehow, the Narnian king managed to switch to the offensive, raining down several blows and giving himself more room to fight. But Miraz was a clever foe.
Before Peter could do any real damage, the Telmarine sent him slamming into one of the stone ruins that littered the arena. Dizzy and with fear screaming within him, the High King found himself flat on his back on the ground. His shield clattered some distance away, giving him no protection from the onslaught that the Telmarine usurper was sure to unleash.
Desperately he attempted to right himself as Miraz rushed at him, sword raised. Reacting on instinct, Peter swung his legs out, and to his great surprise, found that he managed to trip up his opponent, sending him downward. A slight relief filled the young king as both warriors scrambled to their feet once more. But it was short lived.
Within moments, the fight began again in earnest. Such a furious exchange of blows had never before been seen in Narnia, nor was ever seen again. Miraz found his sword wrenched from his hand and quickly grabbed up his shield with both as Peter slammed his own weapon again and again down upon him. Quickly Miraz's eyes darted to the Lords at his end of the arena. They stood as always: unmoved, watching the combat just like everyone else. They were not obeying him! They were not carrying out his order!!! General Glozelle held the key instrument to Miraz’s victory loosely at his side. Oh, he would pay! But the Telmarine’s attention was soon drawn back to the fight at hand.
Desperately he attempted to right himself as Miraz rushed at him, sword raised. Reacting on instinct, Peter swung his legs out, and to his great surprise, found that he managed to trip up his opponent, sending him downward. A slight relief filled the young king as both warriors scrambled to their feet once more. But it was short lived.
Within moments, the fight began again in earnest. Such a furious exchange of blows had never before been seen in Narnia, nor was ever seen again. Miraz found his sword wrenched from his hand and quickly grabbed up his shield with both as Peter slammed his own weapon again and again down upon him. Quickly Miraz's eyes darted to the Lords at his end of the arena. They stood as always: unmoved, watching the combat just like everyone else. They were not obeying him! They were not carrying out his order!!! General Glozelle held the key instrument to Miraz’s victory loosely at his side. Oh, he would pay! But the Telmarine’s attention was soon drawn back to the fight at hand.
An opening presented itself suddenly, and Miraz took it gladly. Slamming a fist into his opponent’s jaw brought back his confidence as Peter reeled backward, dazed. The sword dropped awkwardly from the boy’s hand. Then the usurper brought his shield forward, bashing the young king once more. Miraz smiled as he watched the High King struggle to stay coherent. One more blow, he thought, and he is mine. With all his strength he leaned back and swung his shield for the bruised face of his opponent. But Miraz did not get the reaction he wanted.
At the last second, Peter grabbed the shield, and a short battle of wills raged between the two kings as their glares met. Suddenly, the young man spun and twisted the arms of the Telmarine behind his back at an awkward angle. Miraz screamed, both out of pain and fury. Somehow he manage to get one arm free and with all the strength he could he sent his elbow into the head behind him. The hold on his arms gone, the usurper grabbed the young king and shoved him once more into stones that lined the ruinous arena. Miraz used this opportunity to regain his sword and press the attack. Peter rolled to a sitting position as the Telmarine charged. Using the only thing on him, Peter raised his arms to try and protect his head. The sword came down, first upon one steel
vambrace and then the other.
*****************
Edmund had not been the only one watching the fight unfold. From high on the battlements of Aslan’s How, Susan had seen everything. She winced at every blow, every strike, and cheered with the rest as a turn went in Peter’s favor. Now she held her breath, fear threatening to strangle her. Her older brother had been difficult of late; his stubborn pride getting him into trouble time after time again. Several times the young queen voiced her disdain of his decisions to his face, and the result had been many long, bitter arguments. Now those seemed like silly squabbles as she looked down at the scene that was unfolding before her.
*******************
A third onlooker was having the same thoughts. His brow was furrowed in concern as his dark eyes beheld the contest. When he himself had first arrived at Aslan’s How, he had finally begun feeling accepted by the various creatures of Narnia. They looked to him to make the difficult choices and obeyed his orders without much question.
That all changed however, when the Kings and Queens of Old had come back to the war-burdened land. The heir to the throne’s first meeting with the High King had begun in a brawl, and this trend seemed to continue long after his arrival. Time and again his opinion had been shot down by Peter, who used the excuse that he lacked experience. Which was true. Even as Prince Caspian of Telmar he had never planned a battle before. Their animosity towards one another grew until one fateful morning after a crushing defeat, it had escalated past the point of verbal abuse and into the act of swords being drawn upon one another. The hours after that were filled with vile hatred, until unexpectedly, Peter had swallowed his pride and allowed Caspian to voice his opinion. And
more than that, he had followed through with his idea! But that very plan seemed to be failing before his eyes as the High King desperately tried to defend himself from the onslaught of Miraz. He had had all confidence that Peter could best the usurper to his throne, but now he was unsure. If something were to happen now that he was responsible... Caspian bit his lip and silently begged Aslan to arrive soon.
Suddenly there was a loud shout and Miraz staggered backwards and fell. Peter had struck a blow at last! The Telmarine had exposed his injured leg and the High King had seized the opportunity. A roaring cheer rose up from the Narnian lines as Peter got to his feet and stood panting above his fallen enemy. Miraz panicked, sensing his end was near.
At the last second, Peter grabbed the shield, and a short battle of wills raged between the two kings as their glares met. Suddenly, the young man spun and twisted the arms of the Telmarine behind his back at an awkward angle. Miraz screamed, both out of pain and fury. Somehow he manage to get one arm free and with all the strength he could he sent his elbow into the head behind him. The hold on his arms gone, the usurper grabbed the young king and shoved him once more into stones that lined the ruinous arena. Miraz used this opportunity to regain his sword and press the attack. Peter rolled to a sitting position as the Telmarine charged. Using the only thing on him, Peter raised his arms to try and protect his head. The sword came down, first upon one steel
vambrace and then the other.
*****************
Edmund had not been the only one watching the fight unfold. From high on the battlements of Aslan’s How, Susan had seen everything. She winced at every blow, every strike, and cheered with the rest as a turn went in Peter’s favor. Now she held her breath, fear threatening to strangle her. Her older brother had been difficult of late; his stubborn pride getting him into trouble time after time again. Several times the young queen voiced her disdain of his decisions to his face, and the result had been many long, bitter arguments. Now those seemed like silly squabbles as she looked down at the scene that was unfolding before her.
*******************
A third onlooker was having the same thoughts. His brow was furrowed in concern as his dark eyes beheld the contest. When he himself had first arrived at Aslan’s How, he had finally begun feeling accepted by the various creatures of Narnia. They looked to him to make the difficult choices and obeyed his orders without much question.
That all changed however, when the Kings and Queens of Old had come back to the war-burdened land. The heir to the throne’s first meeting with the High King had begun in a brawl, and this trend seemed to continue long after his arrival. Time and again his opinion had been shot down by Peter, who used the excuse that he lacked experience. Which was true. Even as Prince Caspian of Telmar he had never planned a battle before. Their animosity towards one another grew until one fateful morning after a crushing defeat, it had escalated past the point of verbal abuse and into the act of swords being drawn upon one another. The hours after that were filled with vile hatred, until unexpectedly, Peter had swallowed his pride and allowed Caspian to voice his opinion. And
more than that, he had followed through with his idea! But that very plan seemed to be failing before his eyes as the High King desperately tried to defend himself from the onslaught of Miraz. He had had all confidence that Peter could best the usurper to his throne, but now he was unsure. If something were to happen now that he was responsible... Caspian bit his lip and silently begged Aslan to arrive soon.
Suddenly there was a loud shout and Miraz staggered backwards and fell. Peter had struck a blow at last! The Telmarine had exposed his injured leg and the High King had seized the opportunity. A roaring cheer rose up from the Narnian lines as Peter got to his feet and stood panting above his fallen enemy. Miraz panicked, sensing his end was near.
“Respite!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Respite!”
Peter hesitated. He wanted above everything to finally be rid of this thorn in his side. But something within him held him back. A familiar voice from behind him yelled:
“Now’s not the time for chivalry, Peter!” and he knew it was Edmund. His brother was right. He had won and there were no doubts among any present about this fact. And yet...
“Respite.” The plea was desperate, Peter knew. He struggled for a moment, glaring down at the usurper at his feet. Then, slowly, he sighed and stiffly he nodded his consent. It grated on him awfully that he had just given up certain victory. But chivalry had prevailed. Easing away from Miraz, the young king turned and began walking back to his side of the arena.
“LOOK OUT!!!” Peter met the eyes of his brother as he yelled out the warning. The High King spun around just in time to dodge a swipe that would have taken his head off. Somehow, Miraz had regained his feet and his sword simultaneously, and before the Peter had a chance to react, the Telmarine thrust his blade straight into the chest of the High King.
Everything seemed to shift into slow motion. Peter’s hands clasped tightly around the sword, attempting stop the white hot pain that shot through him. Someone shouted something behind him, but the words sounded like they came from under water. His blue eyes looked blankly through tears into the face of his enemy just as Miraz drove the blade deeper into his wounded body. It seemed to him that air ceased to exist, for each breath did nothing to inflate his lungs and did everything to cause him more pain. Slowly, the Telmarine ‘king’
withdrew his sword. But he took his time, reveling in his victim’s anguished cry as the blade gradually made its way out. As the crimson tip of the weapon was freed, the High King collapsed, the weight of his armor sending him down hard. He closed his eyes to shut out the fierce hurt as he hit the stone beneath him.
Peter hesitated. He wanted above everything to finally be rid of this thorn in his side. But something within him held him back. A familiar voice from behind him yelled:
“Now’s not the time for chivalry, Peter!” and he knew it was Edmund. His brother was right. He had won and there were no doubts among any present about this fact. And yet...
“Respite.” The plea was desperate, Peter knew. He struggled for a moment, glaring down at the usurper at his feet. Then, slowly, he sighed and stiffly he nodded his consent. It grated on him awfully that he had just given up certain victory. But chivalry had prevailed. Easing away from Miraz, the young king turned and began walking back to his side of the arena.
“LOOK OUT!!!” Peter met the eyes of his brother as he yelled out the warning. The High King spun around just in time to dodge a swipe that would have taken his head off. Somehow, Miraz had regained his feet and his sword simultaneously, and before the Peter had a chance to react, the Telmarine thrust his blade straight into the chest of the High King.
Everything seemed to shift into slow motion. Peter’s hands clasped tightly around the sword, attempting stop the white hot pain that shot through him. Someone shouted something behind him, but the words sounded like they came from under water. His blue eyes looked blankly through tears into the face of his enemy just as Miraz drove the blade deeper into his wounded body. It seemed to him that air ceased to exist, for each breath did nothing to inflate his lungs and did everything to cause him more pain. Slowly, the Telmarine ‘king’
withdrew his sword. But he took his time, reveling in his victim’s anguished cry as the blade gradually made its way out. As the crimson tip of the weapon was freed, the High King collapsed, the weight of his armor sending him down hard. He closed his eyes to shut out the fierce hurt as he hit the stone beneath him.
Then someone shouted, and this time he could hear the words.
“To arms Narnia!!!” a heavily accented voice rang out. “Treachery!” Caspian continued to rally the troops. “The High King was struck in a moment of agreed respite! TO ARMS!!!” Peter opened his eyes, and the world around his seemed to have lost all its color. The sky, the trees, the people, everything had turned an ugly hue of dark grey. He tried once more to take in a breath, but the very act seemed almost to strangle him. A grating sound in his chest was his only reward.
“To arms Narnia!!!” a heavily accented voice rang out. “Treachery!” Caspian continued to rally the troops. “The High King was struck in a moment of agreed respite! TO ARMS!!!” Peter opened his eyes, and the world around his seemed to have lost all its color. The sky, the trees, the people, everything had turned an ugly hue of dark grey. He tried once more to take in a breath, but the very act seemed almost to strangle him. A grating sound in his chest was his only reward.
Please comment. Too violent? Too cheesy? Improper use of grammar? Tell on!
