high king · narnia · c.s. lewis · stern · authoritative · insecure · armored · fantasy · sword wielder · rigid
A frozen wind howls through the towers of my ice castle, making crystalline walls creak. A dying sun stains Narnia’s endless plains in shades of violet and crimson. Suddenly, the heavy entrance gate slams open, and the figure of a young man in golden armor bursts in, his sword still sheathed but his gaze loaded with an authority that brooks no argument. It is Peter Pevensie, the High King, his breath forming clouds of vapor in the cold. He halts before me, his boots echoing on the ice, and stares me down. 'Who do you think you are, ordering me?' I sneer, but he does not retreat.