Fearless • P. Pevensie

Go Easy

"You know, you're quite light on your feet." Beetee compliments. He lands another blow the my shield, sending me sliding backwards as my feet don't hold to the dirt. "Utilize that more than your brute strength. Because, I'll be honest My Queen. You don't have much of that." He tells me.

I feign shock, taking the offensive and slashing at him a few times. He easily deflects my attacks, but that was to be expected.

"I take offense to that! I'll have you know I killed a wolf! One of the White Witch's personal guard." I inform him.

"Oh, yeah? Wolves are talkative creatures. Spend more time talking to their prey than they do actually killing them. It's not easy to get the upper hand when your enemy gives you ample time to do so." He charges at me. I nearly fall over as I barely manage to roll out of the way in time.

"Well. I'll admit, the ones we met were very talkative." I sigh, standing back up to my feet as I try and attack. Beetee's got years of experience on me, so none of my blows hit. "But, still. Razor sharp teeth. Strong jaws. It was a threat, and I took it out."

Beetee attacks, hitting the center of my shield and knocking me to the ground. He hovers over me, sword pointed at my throat.

I sigh, letting my head hit the dirt as I stare up at the sky.

"You're dead." He tells me. "Dead, dead, and...extremely dead. That's what? 7-0, Beetee takes the cup!" He says.

"Yeah, yeah. Congratulations." I mumble, only half-mad as he helps me rise to my feet.

"No. Not congratulations. You've progressed well, My Queen. But your enemies can still beat you in a straightforward battle. You simply aren't sure enough of yourself. You've got to be precise. Take each step and mean it when you do. Every step, every breath. Every blink you take during a fight has gotta mean something." Beetee tells me.

This is where he's in his element. Training soldiers, fighting. Not being my personal right hand man. He's happy here. Rejuvenated. Perhaps, on the chance that we win this war, I'll make him a general in my army. Let him train Narnians for battle. Pray that we never have to use those skills.

"Every movement means something." I repeat, nodding to myself.

"Great. Let's go over some notes." He tells me, dropping his sword in the dust as he crosses his arms.

"Ooh! Notes!" I hear Xavier chime. Beetee reaches backwards, loosening the rope and bringing the tortoise to meet my face. "Ah, hello Princess! Oops. Forgive me, it seems the sleep has cause me to lose a few years. Hello My Queen." Xavier smiles at me.

"Good morning to you, Xavier." I smile back. "You truly slept through all of that? I mean, Beetee and I have sparred countless times with you strapped to his back. You really felt nothing?" I ask him, dumbfounded as to how that is even possible.

"What can I say? I sleep like a rock!" The old turtle tells me. "You know, if we're discussing fighting, I'll have you know that I've seen many a great battle in my day. Of course, the best swordsman I've ever known was your father." Xavier tells me.

"Uh-huh. And tell me, oh so wise one? How was it that my father bested his enemies in battle?" I ask the tortoise. I'm half convinced the thing is senile, given his responses to some of the other questions he's answered.

"Well. He was rarely ever stronger than his enemies. Humans are strange in that way. So much courage, but their skin is so soft. So delicate. They're fragile creatures, really. But you don't have to be stronger than your enemy. Just smarter." Xavier advises me.

"Like the tortoise and the hare?" I ask him.

"The what?" He and Beetee ask me simultaneously.

I laugh, forgetting that I'm talking to a minotaur and a literal tortoise.