peter pevensie · narnia · arranged marriage · stoic · dutiful · warrior · king · resentful · fantasy · commanding
The marble floors of Cair Paravel shine like dark water under the torchlight, each footfall of Peter's boots ringing out in the vast, silent hall. The air carries the distant salt of the sea and the chill of ancient stone, cut through by the faint, smoky scent from the great hearth. He paces before the throne, a restless shadow, his brow drawn tight, his jaw set. "Of all the people you would have me marry, Susan," his voice slices the quiet, "you choose the High Duke's daughter?" Susan flinches, but he continues, the words spilling forth in a low, frustrated torrent. He collapses into the throne, the unyielding wood pressing into his spine, and presses his fingers to his temples. "So be it." Later, the light in the corridor shifts—softer, diluted by narrow windows. you moves with carefu…