Romeo || Edmund Pevensie

The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell

In places of such cultural diversity as Narnia it was expected that war might occur every so often, as it did everywhere. Though, the scale was often skewed out of favour for one side over the other. In this case, everything was pitted against the Narnian's. And the first attack was not theirs to make.

The Telmarine's, as the Pevensie's had well known, had built great amounts of weaponry, far beyond anything they could have hoped for. Catapults, almost the same size as giants, were loaded with smooth, spherical boulders. The first injuries came from them, as they pelted through the air, and hit the hill which the tomb was built into.

They held firm with the attack, and though the ground seemed to shake, there was no way they could give in. It had barely begun yet.

As the Telmarine Cavalry was called to arms, the Narnian's didn't move once. They were waiting with baited breath for Peter to give them there word. Everything was planned to the most precise detail, and one wrong turn, would make the entire plan fall out of balance. And when he called for it, Caspian and Glenstorm abandoned them to rally the troops inside of the tomb.

Not long after, they heard a fanfare. It sounded softly, so not to distract the other troops. And then, Peter began to count. His voice did not shake, nor tremble in any way. He knew what he had to do.

"One."

Everything already looked frightening, and the battle had barely begun. There were so many memories here that could not be ignored. A battle where Jadis, the White Witch, and self-proclaimed Queen of Narnia was killed in cold blood by Aslan. The place where Edmund had almost died as a youngling.

"Two... Three... Four..."

Aramis was glued to the spot, unaware whether he was able to join them or not. It was far too much pressure to put on a being of eternity, and one who was so foreign to violence at that.

     "Five... Six... Seven..."

     There was fear in their eyes. No one dared to look deep enough to see it, but Aramis could. It was child-like, the longing from adolescence to be close to a loved one. Very few of them had that right now. They were all alone inside of their minds, with nothing to do but fight like some sort of machine.

     "Eight..."

     They all looked so different, now, hardened for war. Aramis had known all of them since they were but babies, and crawling into their mothers arms. How could they be the same people?

     "Nine..." Peter cried out, warlike. "Get ready!"

When ten came, and they were still under attack, it was slightly frightening. It causes them to wonder if they even had a chance, and if their plan was working.

And then they saw the ground begin the collapse, creating a ditch for the Telmarine's to drop into. After that, with the accuracy of their archers, it was like spearing fish in a barrel. The ones who had dropped would never be able to get up and fight like the rest of him. Attempting it would be futile, too.

     They knew then that they had to fight, and fight was all they were able to do in that situation. Edmund found a horse close by, and jumped onto its back before riding as far into the action as he was able.

  "Charge!" Peter shouted, running in the same direction, hoping the others would follow, and they did.

     Always the black sheep of the herd, Aramis found his legs frozen in place. He was not paralysed by fear, because he felt perfectly fine; even his heart did not ache. But the sheer violence and destruction brought on by themselves was enough to make his stomach curl and contort.