wis·dom
/ˈwizdəm/
noun
the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment; the quality of being wise.
Narnia had always been a free country, until she came along. Jadis was the devil in disguise, and she brought to the kingdom an eternal...
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"What kind of dystopian hellscape is this?" - Wednesday Addams
Narnia, 2315
"I'm a warrior. It's in the title, you prat."
Peter groaned. Olivia could be very stubborn when she wished to be, and it tended to cause him a massive headache. The question was who should duel with Miraz: Peter or Olivia. After Caspian had suggested the matter of single-handed combat, everyone agreed with the idea. But who would take on the noble action into hands was another discussion entirely. Lucy and Susan were headed to their tents, placing their armour and choosing a horse.
"You're injured." Argued the High King, gesturing to her cane.
Olivia forcefully hit her cane on his foot, making Peter grab it and yelp in pain. "So are you."
Trumpkin snorted, using the back of his hand to cover his mouth. Peter cleared his throat, directing his gaze at Olivia once again.
"Olivia," His voice seemed similar to a warning. "Please. As you've said yourself, you are a warrior. I need you intact for when the true fighting begins."
The girl hesitated. She opened her mouth to keep arguing that Miraz wouldn't land a finger on her, but she remembered Peter was the High King. No matter how hard she fought, he was the image the Narnians would always see—the brains behind their golden years and glory.
"Alright." She gave in. "But I'll deliver the message to the tents."
Edmund stood up from where he sat, moving towards his wife. "I'm coming with." And it was good if he went, for Edmund knew his way around his words and arguments. Out of the five Kings and Queens of old, he was definitely, the most diplomatic one. That was unarguable.
Peter and Caspian headed for the stone table, where they would pick the two marshalls for the battle. Edmund grabbed Olivia's hand, and they headed for their tent, where they should put their armour.
Olivia quickly put on her red-wine skirt, adjusting her silver armour with the red lion engraved in the metal over the mail shirt. She wrapped her belt around her waist, adjusting her spear in its sheath and the dagger in her boot.
Edmund seemed to be having a little bit of trouble; he always did when it came to armour. His was in perfect contrast with Olivia's, the places that were silver in hers were red on his.
The girl moved to help him wrap the belt around his waist, looking at her with a graceful smile. "Thanks." He said, pressing a quick peck to her lips. She winked at him, grabbing his sword and placing it where it was supposed to be.
"Nervous?" She questioned.
"Not really." He answered. "More anxious, to be sincere."
Olivia smiled. "Not every day you get to deliver a duel request in the middle of a war." She giggled, adjusting her things.
