PETER/EDMUND - HOMECOMINGS
Title: Homecomings
Fandom/Pairing: NARNIA; Peter Pevensie/Edmund Pevensie
Summary: Edmund has an odd way of saying welcome back.
The tension in the air is palpable.
Edmund licks at dry lips, steadies his sword.
He feels the weight heavy in his hand, feels too much like a burden and more. He is perched high up on an open balcony in wait, eyes of a hawk’s narrowed in contemplation. Years of sword mastery have been worked hard in his bones, seen through the calluses on his hands, the years in his eyes.
The familiar clops of horse’s hooves. His ears prickle at the noise, causes Edmund to move. Edmund’s grip tightens on the hilt of his blade. Kneeling, he presses an open palm carelessly against marble stone. He’s watching carefully, sees the shadow of a figure move below.
Practice makes perfect, it takes a more than little faith to make the first move. With a readied and prepared invigoration, Edmund pushes himself off the balcony and leaps. He jumps.
His jump is effortless. Edmund drives his sword home, hair wild, ready to catch the rider unawares. He hears the animal neigh, sees it rise up off its horseshoe-clad feet. Edmund lands on dirt, thrusts his sword up at the rider, a vicious, well-aimed stab. He’s shoved back, a block of a shield. Edmund hears the unsheathing of another blade. Sees Rhindon reflect light off of its surface, a lethal beauty. Father Christmas’ present more than a worthy foe.
High King Peter falls from grace, drops down from his saddled high horse, is eyeing the circling Edmund with a look. Edmund’s filled with devious vagrant intention.
Edmund’s all grins now, playful but serious, dangerous and ready. He spins the handle of his blade experimentally in one hand, is gaining momentum with each twist.
He greets, smiles, “Hello, brother.”
Peter never gets to respond when Edmund cuts through air, swings his sword, hears the clash of steel against steel. They’re at blows, driving each other into the dirt, the horse panicking in the distance, steps a clutter.
Peter manages to get Edmund on his back at some point, their blades at one another’s throats, sharp and threatening. Edmund’s working his hips up into a grind against Peter, grinning wide now, feeling rather proud, hardly disappointed in what others may perceive as a blatant loss on his part. Edmund hasn’t put all that much into it really.
“Hello, Edmund,” Peter says rather blandly, tone somewhat clipped. The slightest smile is in his voice, the warmth clear as the sky, however, in his eyes.
He gets up, brushes himself off, reaches a hand down and pulls his brother up along with him. Edmund has his sword stayed at his side; free hand working to pull his brother into a tight hug, glad his brother’s blade hasn’t dulled after adventuring through the lands of Anvard. He’s been missed and more.
“Welcome back, High King Peter.” Edmund bows a poised bow, more out of brotherly love than kingly respect.
Edmund sheathes his sword after Peter urges him to rise, doesn’t need his brother to kneel at his feet, his equal. Edmund claps a warm hand on his brother’s back, asks him to tell him all about Anvard, telling Peter his journey’s been a bit too long and the Cair Paravel has been successively dull without him.
It is good to have Peter home.
Fandom/Pairing: NARNIA; Peter Pevensie/Edmund Pevensie
Summary: Edmund has an odd way of saying welcome back.
The tension in the air is palpable.
Edmund licks at dry lips, steadies his sword.
He feels the weight heavy in his hand, feels too much like a burden and more. He is perched high up on an open balcony in wait, eyes of a hawk’s narrowed in contemplation. Years of sword mastery have been worked hard in his bones, seen through the calluses on his hands, the years in his eyes.
The familiar clops of horse’s hooves. His ears prickle at the noise, causes Edmund to move. Edmund’s grip tightens on the hilt of his blade. Kneeling, he presses an open palm carelessly against marble stone. He’s watching carefully, sees the shadow of a figure move below.
Practice makes perfect, it takes a more than little faith to make the first move. With a readied and prepared invigoration, Edmund pushes himself off the balcony and leaps. He jumps.
His jump is effortless. Edmund drives his sword home, hair wild, ready to catch the rider unawares. He hears the animal neigh, sees it rise up off its horseshoe-clad feet. Edmund lands on dirt, thrusts his sword up at the rider, a vicious, well-aimed stab. He’s shoved back, a block of a shield. Edmund hears the unsheathing of another blade. Sees Rhindon reflect light off of its surface, a lethal beauty. Father Christmas’ present more than a worthy foe.
High King Peter falls from grace, drops down from his saddled high horse, is eyeing the circling Edmund with a look. Edmund’s filled with devious vagrant intention.
Edmund’s all grins now, playful but serious, dangerous and ready. He spins the handle of his blade experimentally in one hand, is gaining momentum with each twist.
He greets, smiles, “Hello, brother.”
Peter never gets to respond when Edmund cuts through air, swings his sword, hears the clash of steel against steel. They’re at blows, driving each other into the dirt, the horse panicking in the distance, steps a clutter.
Peter manages to get Edmund on his back at some point, their blades at one another’s throats, sharp and threatening. Edmund’s working his hips up into a grind against Peter, grinning wide now, feeling rather proud, hardly disappointed in what others may perceive as a blatant loss on his part. Edmund hasn’t put all that much into it really.
“Hello, Edmund,” Peter says rather blandly, tone somewhat clipped. The slightest smile is in his voice, the warmth clear as the sky, however, in his eyes.
He gets up, brushes himself off, reaches a hand down and pulls his brother up along with him. Edmund has his sword stayed at his side; free hand working to pull his brother into a tight hug, glad his brother’s blade hasn’t dulled after adventuring through the lands of Anvard. He’s been missed and more.
“Welcome back, High King Peter.” Edmund bows a poised bow, more out of brotherly love than kingly respect.
Edmund sheathes his sword after Peter urges him to rise, doesn’t need his brother to kneel at his feet, his equal. Edmund claps a warm hand on his brother’s back, asks him to tell him all about Anvard, telling Peter his journey’s been a bit too long and the Cair Paravel has been successively dull without him.
It is good to have Peter home.