Narnia Preferences and Imagines

○Peter~V○

(I've got a thing for Peter rn besties- also this is kinda sad. I mean there's a lot of death and blood and um sad things, so please don't read this if any of those trigger you :)

Injury Recall

A ride through the woods was what the doctor had ordered, not a romp through a field of dead bodies. You weren't sure what happened, but by the looks of it an army had ravished the country side, cutting down the defense that had been set up with ease.

But curiosity about the battle is not what has trying to ignore the sea of death surrounding you as you pick your way through the lifeless bodies. Instead, your curiosity was piqued by a body leaning against a tree.

It's sitting perfectly upright, heavily leaned against the truck of the oak, that much you can tell from a distance. Usually dead bodies fall in such an unordinary way you can tell they have passed on, but here you can't. The body looks so lifeless, but it's so perfectly placed, investigating your find is imperative.

You make your way slowly towards it, stopping at the man's feet - as you can now tell the body belongs to a man, by the distinctly male features. The man's head is turned to one side, downturned slightly. His eyes are closed, but his mouth is wide open. You kneel next to him, the sound of his faint, shallow breathing not reaching your ears.

Your hand reaches out, finding his blood stained, dirt caked fingers in the leaves fallen from the trees. You curl your fingers into your palm, all except for two that you place on the inside of his wrist, feeling for a pulse. You gasp at the same time he does, jerking his hand away, only to immediately groan in pain.

In the split moment his eyes were open, you could see beautiful blue eyes clouded with angst. The groan that slips past his chapped lips catches your attention, as does his hand that flies to rest against his stomach.

You gasp again as you look down, unable to keep the horror from your eyes. The armor is made to protect from injuries, but a carefully calculated move has lodged half a spear in the stomach of the man with the gorgeous blue eyes.

You look up, finding that his eyes are already on yours. His face is stern, but his eyes are begging you. You're not sure if it's a plea for mercy or to be put out of the misery he's in, but he's asking for one.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you whisper. "What's your name?" You ask, trying to figure out how in the world you're going to get him out of here. He's much larger than you are and trying to move him would cause the poor man agony.

"P...Peter," he whispers, watching your fingers hover over his body. "Wh," he swallows. "What are you doing?"

"Well, Peter, I'm going to take you home." He gasps and shakes his head.

"No!" He grunts as he sits up, trying to disappear into the trunk of the tree his still pressed against.

"But you're gonna die," you whisper, placing a hand on his leg. One he is quick to shrug off.

"How do I know I can trust you?" He asks, his eyes filling with judgement.

"Why wouldn't I haven't already killed you then? I mean why would I wait." The man -- Peter -- thinks over your claim, nodding slowly.

"That's fine," he stops, leaning his head against the tree trunk, losing his wind. "But how are you going to get me 'home?'"

You think, having not been able to overcome that question quite yet. "My horse," but he shakes his head.

"That would kill me," he says, well aware it would hurt less to walk than he jostled by the less than smooth motions of a horse. "How far is it?"

"A little ways that way," you say, pointing back the way that you came. He pales, more than he already was, looking at the bodies that litter the ground, many of them wearing a shade of red close to his. "Or we could go around, it would take longer though."