"Waves Upon the Shore", Narnia fic, Edmund/Caspian
Hello, kids! This is very exciting for me: I have written more for pleasure in the past three days than I have in the past three years.
Title: Waves Upon The Shore
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Narnia (Movie-verse, though definitely accessible for fans of just the books for sure.)
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, alternate ending to Voyage of the Dawn Treader, brief evil-induced fantasy of non-con
Length: 12,000 words
Summary: Instead of Susan, it is Edmund that Caspian gravitates toward during the Pevensies’ second trip to Narnia. And events unfurl dramatically differently because of it.
Notes: As it worked out, this fic could very easily have another title: “Five Times Caspian and Edmund Almost Kissed -- And One Time They Did”.
YOU GUYS I WROTE THINGS IT IS SUPER EXCITING. :D :D :D
Since it was the recent movie series that got me back into Narnia fandom - and because Edmund and Caspian have so very much chemistry in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Jesus Christ - this is technically movie-verse. However, it is definitely readable for fans of the books/audiobooks/BBC series as well. The sequence of events is a tad different, as is Edmund’s hair colour. Ramandu’s daughter has a name, and it’s Lilliandil. Other than that, the stories are very similar. So feel free to dig in!
Please let me know what you think, everyone! I have never written in Narnia fandom before. Hell, I haven’t written this much in bloody years. I’m eager for feedback. :DI have mad ideas for sequels, so if people enjoy this I'll likely start working on the next installment soon.
1. The Celebration
The festivities on the night of the Narnian victory were brilliant. Vibrant fireworks graced the night sky above the castle, flaring into the darkness and exploding into every colour imaginable as the townspeople pointed and gasped. Unwatered wine flowed freely, bringing colour to human cheeks and making Animal whiskers twitch. Everyone’s laughter was slightly too loud, the dancing a little too frantic.
To Caspian, the shimmering streaks of colour against the black night looked identical to the ones that had celebrated the birth of his cousin. That had heralded the end to everything he knew, and the resurrection of an old world.
The soon-to-be-King sat at the far end of a great wooden table, a grand bonfire having been assembled in the middle of the castle courtyard. The air was filled with a cacophony of noise; the throaty chuckles of dwarfs into deep mugs, the clack of hooves on stone as centaurs cantered about, the clamour of laughter and chatter from humans. King Peter sat on a large set of stone steps, speaking animatedly to a group of human and Animal generals about the duel with Miraz, the thick cloth bandages wrapped around his chest visible at the opening of his shirt. Caspian could hear the words ‘honour’ and ‘valour’ as they drifted across the courtyard. Queen Susan was dancing animatedly around the fire with a young Telmarine boy; he was tall and gangly, and his steps were slightly stilted. Nonetheless, her high, delighted laugh was audible through the din as she gracefully led him around the courtyard. And Queen Lucy, young and bright and brilliant, danced with a cluster of Animals. Surrounded by a dancing Badger, Bear, and Fox, she had never looked more at home. The firelight danced around the unusual group as they flung and tossed themselves wantonly to the music.
King Edmund was nowhere to be seen.
The noise pounded in Caspian’s ears. The wine had put a fierce heat in his cheeks that was beginning to grow uncomfortable; the smoke from the fire made his eyes sting and his throat grow dry.
The outward cheer and frivolity did not make him forget the dark looks so many townsfolk had given the procession as they entered the town, or the quiet mutterings among the Narnian army that afternoon. For every dancing citizen here tonight, there were ten more who were unsatisfied with the way things had turned out. For the compromises to come.
Caspian realized thickly that the Telmarine military officer next to him - General, Captain, he couldn’t seem to remember - had been attempting to strike up a conversation with him about trade relations with Archenland for some considerable length of time.
“I’m so sorry, good man,” said Caspian smoothly, attempting to draw himself up and look apologetic simultaneously. “It has been a long day. I believe I may be ready for rest.”
The officer - a ruddy-faced man with a rounded nose and greying hair - smiled widely and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. His breath smelled of roast beast and mulled mead, thick and cloying. “S’all right, my lad,” he said, giving Caspian’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should go get some rest. Save those troubles for the morning, eh?” He chucked heartily, smiled, and returned to conversation with the man on his other side.
Caspian rose to his feet slowly, wondering if anyone would comment upon his early departure.
No one did.
He reached the tall doors leading to the castle interior undisturbed, prying them open a bit too frantically and walking briskly through the dark hallways. It was cooler inside; a relief after the blistering heat of the fire. He marched purposefully through the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and along another corridor. When he was sure he had escaped unnoticed, Caspian slowed and finally stopped beside a grand stone balcony that looked over the darkened, rolling town. Letting out a long, shaking sigh, the prince leaned bonelessly against the stone entrance to the balcony, head in his hands.
“Hello, there.”
Caspian jumped, hard, heart in his throat and hand flying to his sword before he could identify the voice.
But it was only Edmund, sitting on a large stone bench on the wide balcony and looking at him with veiled amusement on his face. It was dark, but Caspian’s eyes had adjusted. The dark-eyed boy was plainly visible from the prince’s vantage point; he had not seen Edmund simply because he had not been looking.
“Hello,” said Caspian, still breathing heavily as he moved his fingers away from his sword hilt. “I didn’t see you there,” he said, which made him cringe internally. Because, really. Obvious.
Edmund laughed, the sound unexpected on the still night air. “I noticed,” he said warmly, and Caspian noticed an empty plate sitting on the floor of the balcony for the first time.
“You are not enjoying the festivities?” asked Caspian, and Edmund shook his head softly.
“No, not really. It’s no reflection on you, though. I’m not really one for feasts or dances, no matter how much experience I may have in enduring them.” He smiled as he said this, but Caspian was struck afresh by the fact that he was, in fact, speaking to King Edmund the Just. King Edmund, who had played a starring role in all of the stories that Doctor Cornelius used to tell him when he was a boy. Who led battles, and skilfully led on politicians, and ruled this country over a thousand years ago. He was speaking to King Edmund the Just, who looked like a boy but had all the life experience of a full grown man.
When he was younger, Caspian used to imagine that he and the great High King Peter would have been the perfect pair of friends, had they been alive in the same century. Magnificent and glorious and courageous, Cornelius’ tales painted the Peter as an authority above man, a golden boy of honour and duty and bravery. Young Caspian saw himself leading armies into battle with the High King, presiding over grand feasts and posturing to foreign generals side by side.
But now that the characters of his childhood fantasies had actually come to life, Cornelius’ long-ago words giving way to flesh and blood. In reality, Caspian and Peter together were explosive, volatile. Against all his youthful expectations, it was Edmund he had found himself drawn to.
Edmund, who was all quiet contemplation and tactics and strategy, doing what needed to be done with icy determination. So much smaller and younger than Caspian had ever imagined him, Edmund was not overtly belligerent and full of fervour like Peter or Lucy, nor was he quietly civilized and refined like Susan. He was thoughtfulness and necessity - and a deep love for his old kingdom that resonated in everything he did, once you knew where to look. Edmund was understated passion and comprehension and a willingness to do what needed to be done.
Edmund was also dark curls along small ears, and full lips, and light freckles along pale skin. He was smouldering brown eyes and a soft, sweet voice.
But it was better if Caspian did not think about that.
The former King of Narnia was looking at him quizzically now, eyebrows furrowed together. “Are you all right, Caspian? It’s been a long day.”
Oh. Edmund’s voice as it wrapped about his name, his strange Narnian accent twisting around the vowels, was just devastating. Caspian let out a shaky breath.
“I am fine, but...” He searched around, deciding on a true response. “I am worried for my people. For this new Narnia.” The prince moved forward and sat next to Edmund on the stone bench; not to get closer to the boy, of course. To facilitate easier conversation. Caspian expected to have to explain himself, but Edmund was already nodding, a look of comprehension in his eyes.
“Mm,” said the former king, nodding and looking thoughtful as he seemed to carefully select his next words. Now that he was next to him, Caspian could smell the cleanness of Edmund’s skin; he must have bathed upon his arrival at the castle. He smelled of lye soap and clear Narnian water and a subtle hint of Edmund that was unique to him. Caspian breathed in deeply under the guise of deep thought.
Edmund spoke. “You worry that you are to rule over a divided people. You believe that the hatred may run too deep; that Telmarines and Narnians will never be able to reconcile their differences and form a new nation together.”
“There is so much anger and bitterness in all of them,” said Caspian, his voice hollow. “And none of it is unjustified. The Narnians were almost wiped out by the Telmarine invasion and occupation, and they want their home back again.” The prince ran a hand through his long, dark hair as he spoke. “But the Telmarines who live here now have done so for generations. This is the home they have always known, and they don’t want to share it with those they see as outsiders. It’s an awful mess, and no one is right.” Caspian turned to Edmund, and the moonlight was shining off his pale, freckled skin. “How do you unite a country whose citizens have fought and killed each other? How do you live side by side to those who murdered your people, who saw your species as not worth living? And how to do allow yourself to be ruled by one who shares the appearance of those who senselessly slaughtered your people?”
Caspian dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Edmund. I just... I don’t know how to make it all okay again.”
There was a long pause as Caspian’s words hung between them, so long that the prince began to wonder if Edmund had nothing to say. And then -
“Do you know what happened when I first came to Narnia?” asked Edmund. Slowly. Carefully.
“What?” Caspian raised his head, and turned to look at the former king again. “When you four came through to the lamp post, and defeated the White Witch, and began your rule in Cair Paravel -?”
“No,” said Edmund, voice quiet but firm. He seemed to be attempting to not look Caspian in the eye. “Not all that. I mean before then. Do... do the histories discuss what happened between the myself and the White Witch?”
Caspian shook his head, baffled. The stories Cornelius told him had largely focused on the depths of the Golden Age -once the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve had taken the throne. The years of plenty; of victorious battles and booming trade and widespread contentment. He knew the story of the White Witch’s defeat, but could not remember a facet of the legend that related solely to Edmund.
The dark-haired boy chuckled softly, sombrely. “I suppose they wanted to remember me in a glorious light,” he murmured. “Not too tarnished.” He took a deep breath.
“Lucy arrived here first,” Edmund spoke slowly, eyes still starting straight ahead. “She came through from our world and discovered a land of ice and snow and magic. She was so young. None of us believed her when she came back and told us of the things she’d seen.” He smiled humourlessly, the soft boyish lines of his face illuminated by moonlight. “I was ten, and so very lonely. I always felt overshadowed by my siblings. I came through the - the portal after her one day, but you know that time between our worlds is different. I arrived alone into the cold and met a beautiful, kind woman who fed me sweets and gave me drink and told me I was special.” He turned his head toward Caspian, and his eyes were full of sadness. “The White Witch.”
“No,” breathed Caspian, horrified. The beginning of every tale Cornelius had ever told him began to play distantly in his mind.
Long ago, at the hands of the White Witch, Narnia was a land of ice and snow, of cruelty and darkness and evil.
“Yeah,” said Edmund, dully. His head tilted down, eyes trained on the floor between them. “And I believed every word she told me, for a while. I betrayed my siblings, treated them so very badly. I betrayed the world that welcomed me into it for the promise of power and love and being special.” The last word was almost spat out, and ugly disgust curled Edmund’s pretty, soft-looking lips. “I realized my mistake later, of course, but it was too late. I was a traitor. And by the law of Narnia, the blood of traitors was forfeit to the Witch.”
Even though Caspian knew how the story must have ended - with Edmund safe and well and alive - sickly fear still gripped his chest. Edmund had been ten. Young, so very young, when all this came to pass. Young and foolish. The thought of a small, scared, delicate Edmund turned over to the figure Cornelius had always described of as the epitome of evil and manipulation and depravity made his stomach churn and horror choke in his throat.
“But then,” said Edmund, and he was smiling now. A slow tug of amusement or fondness pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Aslan saved me. He forfeited his life for mine, and the Witch sacrificed him on the Stone Table. His blood for mine. The Old Magic brought him back, and together we purged the land of the Witch’s evil.” He caught Caspian’s eyes. “You met the Witch once, while we were here. In Aslan’s How.”
There was a pause, and Caspian had no idea what to say. He remembered the wall of ice, and the beauty of the pale woman inside. Her entrancing, silky smooth voice. They way she saw into his and Peter’s minds, enticed them. Claimed them. And the darkness in Edmund’s eyes when he unhesitatingly stabbed her through. Any possible response seemed empty, insufficient. Edmund was looking thoughtful again, clearly searching for his next words cautiously.
“Peter and Susan and Lucy are all wonderful people, and they made glorious leaders. I don’t want to sound like I’m saying otherwise. But Narnia has always been a safe place in many ways for them. A world of good and evil, right and wrong. They’re good and decent, through and through. Always have been.” He took a deep breath. “Narnia has never been so simple for me. Since I first arrived, it has showed me pain, confusion, evil. The darkness inside myself. I overcame it, but I never forgot it. It’s made me who I am.”
And now Edmund reached out, taking one of Caspian’s thick, strong hands in one of his delicate ones. The former King’s fingers were long and pale, and the touch sent shivers down Caspian’s spine. His eyes were locked with Caspian now, full of conviction and shining slightly.
“The people of Narnia were able to accept me, a traitor, as their King. And Aslan would never put you in charge of a circumstance you could not overcome. Aslan has faith in you, Caspian, like he had faith in me. I have faith in you.”
Caspian was breathing heavily now, unable to look away from the smaller boy’s eyes.
Stars above, he’s beautiful. He’s so, so beautiful. And so very broken.
Slowly, Caspian reached up with his unclasped hand and curled it around the back of Edmund’s neck. The skin there was cool, and smooth, and Edmund licked his lips and shivered at the touch. Caspian leaned in, closer and closer until -
“Edmund! Caspian! What are you doing out here? Come and join the party!”
They jolted away from each other as though from an electric shock, hands retreating back to safety. Caspian looked up - and it was Lucy. Tiny Lucy, flushed and happy and clearly having had more wine than her small frame could handle. She was grinning madly and slightly unsteady on her feet.
“Come on, you two!” she exclaimed, dashing forward and grabbing taking one of their hands in either of hers. “I was playing Hide and Go Find with some of the Beavers, and I must have got turned around. Help me find my way back to the feast, and we can get some jollity in you yet! Ed, I know you hate feasts, but just this once won’t hurt you, I swear.”
As Lucy tugged them out into the hallway and back to the feast, Caspian chanced a glance at Edmund. His cheeks and neck were flushed, lips still wet from where he licked them earlier.
Caspian shivered and followed the young Queen obediently. He did not get another chance to speak to Edmund in private for the rest of the night.
--
The next day, he and Aslan addressed the massed Telmarines. They laid out their options: live peacefully with the Narnians or be sent to the other world. Fleetingly, Caspian began to feel as though everything could be all right one day. That he could rebuild this divided world.
And then Aslan made it known that the Pevensies were leaving. That Peter and Susan were never coming back.
And no. No no no no, because the last time they left, it had been for hundreds of years. If they - if Edmund ever returned, Caspian would be dead - long gone, long buried. He tried to catch Edmund’s eye, but the young man had stiffened at Aslan’s words. Refusing to look at him. Caspian tried to hold it together - for the crowd of Telmarines and Narnians, for Aslan. For Edmund. But the twin claws of desperation and panic were beginning to claw at his insides.
The four Kings and Queens turned to go, but Caspian caught Edmund by the forearm.
“Edmund,” he said, frantically, clinging to the smaller boy. “Edmund, please.”
He could feel the confused buzz begin to rise around them - from the Pevensies, from the gathered crowd. Edmund looked up - and oh. His mouth was slightly open, breath coming heavier than normal. His eyes were shining, and he was blinking more than usual.
He looked perfect. Beautiful. His.
And then Edmund reached up, grasped Caspian’s hand. Gently, he pulled it away.
“Goodbye. Caspian.” His accent swirled around Caspian’s name, and he sounded slightly choked. And then... Caspian could see the barrier of detachment and acceptance go up in his eyes. The shine disappeared; instead, icy coldness fell over them. The comprehension of necessity.
He squeezed Caspian’s hand one last time, then turned and walked through the barrier first.
He left Caspian with a kingdom to unite and a hole in his heart.
2. Dragging Monarchs from Sea
Edmund’s mouth was full of the cloying, salty taste of the sea when he was pulled aboard. He coughed, wiping a hand across his mouth as he took in the scene around him. They were on a great ship in the middle of a wide, unending sea. The one from the painting. Its bow had been carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, proud and regal; Edmund could see the gold adornments along its back spines from where he stood. The ship was solid, a work of art in rigging and sails and detail. It teemed with laughing young men wearing white shirt sleeves, pointing and smiling at the strangers the sea had offered up.
It was a pale imitation of the ships that he and his siblings had sailed in the Golden Age. But God, it was still beautiful.
Eustace was being dragged unwillingly aboard by a strong-looking man, and he could see Lucy ahead with a thick, rough blanket around her shoulders. A man with long, dark hair had his arm around her, and he was speaking conspiratorially into her ear. He was facing away, but his face was turned just far enough to the side that Edmund could see he was smiling. Edmund’s heart caught in his throat.
Caspian.
The King of Narnia turned, and Edmund realized he must have spoken out loud without realizing it. Caspian’s face broke into a wide, ecstatic grin, and Edmund felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the bright sun. He’s grown a beard, he thought distractedly, as though that piece of information was of any import. It looked good on him. Edmund had never imagined Caspian as anything except clean-shaven, but oh. With his clothes soaking wet, long pale shirt dragged down by the weight of the sea water, and his lips surrounded by fine dark hair, he looked shockingly handsome.
And overjoyed to see him.
“Edmund,” said Caspian, voice full of delight and disbelief. And something else. Something darker and warmer and remarkably intimate. Caspian darted forward suddenly and wrapped a second blanket around Edmund’s soaking frame. He pulled the smaller boy tight against him easily, gripping Edmund’s shoulder in a firm, inescapable hold. Edmund wrapped an arm around Caspian’s waist, feeling the strong, slender build hiding underneath his soaking shirt. He felt solid beneath Edmund’s fingers. Real. Nothing at all like a dream come to life. “How wonderful it is to have you back in Narnia,” Caspian murmured. His accent was... different. More Narnian. Edmund imagined him cultivating it, practicing it over the years. He remembered their conversation the night of the celebration - how to do allow yourself to be ruled by one who shares the appearance of those who senselessly slaughtered your people? - and smiled.
Caspian was leaning close now, his breath tickling against Edmund’s ear. And Edmund understood. Because Caspian was a King, and Kings had responsibilities and reputations and duties to uphold.
He was waiting to get Edmund in private, in some hidden nook of the ship.
Edmund could wait. Long practice had turned him into an endlessly patient man, even in the most desperate of situations.
Eustace made a fuss, of course, demanding attention and making a scene. Edmund attempted to feel sympathy at his frantic disbelief upon seeing the talking Animals, but his skin was thrumming too persistently to care overmuch. Finally, finally, Caspian put Lucy away in his private chambers with a set of men’s clothes to change into and led Edmund down to the supply hull to rid themselves of their own soaking garments. Caspian descended first. Edmund had only just reached the bottom of the sturdy ladder, having placed one foot on the solid floor when he turned to face his companion.
“Caspian -” he began, but was cut off as the taller boy slammed into him, pulling him into a crushing hug and burying his face in Edmund’s neck.
For a moment Edmund stood stunned in the embrace, gripped tight against Caspian’s sharply rising and falling chest. His hands rested awkwardly at his sides for a long moment before he slowly raised them up and wrapped them, tentatively, around Caspian’s waist.
“You came back.” Caspian’s voice was thick and wavering as he clutched Edmund desperately to his chest, his arms pulled so tightly around Edmund’s torso that it almost hurts. “You came back to me.”
How long has it been for him? Edmund thought vaguely as he held the trembling King in his arms. Years, certainly. But how many? Caspian’s breath was coming hard and fast and hot against Edmund’s cold, wet neck. “I always thought - I thought that when you returned, I would be -”
“I know,” said Edmund, relaxing into Caspian’s embrace. Because he did know. Edmund thought of the long year away at school with Peter after they returned from Caspian’s victory. The loud and raucous boys in uniform who shouted and fought and meant nothing at all. Peter’s worried looks, his fair eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his younger brother made it through every day quiet and darkly contemplative and detached. Supportive claps on the shoulder and murmured words. You can tell me anything, Ed. You know that, right?
He thought of all the nights he bit his lips raw as he took himself in hand in his dormitory, the room full of sleeping boys, trying so hard to be silent. How he allowed himself only then to think of long dark hair and passionate eyes and strong sword-calloused hands, of doubts and uncertainties, of reassurances. Of what had almost happened.
How he would come into his hand with a stifled gasp, sick with the realization that he was fantasizing to thoughts of a dead man. The last time they were gone, they lost over a thousand years; and Edmund had known with utter, nauseating certainty that he would never see Caspian again.
“I know,” he said again. “It’s okay. I’m back now.” His hands tightened in Caspian’s wet tunic.
And the King’s lips began to move along his neck, pressing firmly in a quick succession of almost-kisses along the sensitive skin, making Edmund shudder and his breath quicken.
“Caspian -”
But then he was being shoved back, almost stumbling over a barrel as Caspian pushed him hard against the storage room wall with his whole body, never giving him an inch. Edmund’s back slammed against it and Caspian was there, clutching at his upper arms and holding them easily against the panelling. His face was buried in Edmund’s neck, teeth sharp and mouth unrelenting as he bit and sucked at the delicate flesh. He must taste of the sea, Edmund through vaguely, before gasping as Caspian pressed their hips together. He could feel the taller boy’s hardness through his sopping trousers, could feel how desperately he wanted this.
Edmund felt his hands spasm and clench at his sides, and he tilted his head to the side to allow Caspian greater access. Caspian groaned and redoubled his efforts, sucking hard enough to leave marks. He ground their hips together, once, twice, and a sharp keen of frantic arousal escaped from Edmund’s throat as they writhed together.
And suddenly, with such certainty it shook him to the core, Edmund knew that this could not happen.
He saw Caspian carrying on without him after he left, getting married and having children and forgetting all about the strange young boy from another world. He saw himself going back to England and living his life and pretending none of it had ever happened, pretending it didn’t matter. Of lying to Susan and Peter, to Lucy. He thought of Caspian old and withered, dead and dying, hair long and grey and hanging limply under a heavy crown. A gravestone that Edmund would never see.
Edmund was strong, and hard, and he could even be cold. But he knew he could not survive leaving this man again if this went any further.
“Caspian,” he choked out, attempting to pull his arms free and his neck out of reach of the hot, frenetic lips. Caspian growled and held firm, lips moving up and pressing hard kisses along Edmund’s jaw, his cheek. “Caspian.” He was unused to being in this small, frail body during such moments of passion, and his inability to wrench away from the grip was frustrating - as well as slightly frightening. Caspian’s lips reached the corner of his mouth. In his most regal, commanding voice he stated:
“Caspian. Stop.”
And that had an effect. Blinking, the long-haired boy pulled away sharply, looking at him with confusion. His eyes were still full of desperation and need. But he released Edmund’s arms, moved away infinitesimally from Edmund’s body.
“What’s wrong?” asked Caspian, still panting, and beginning to look hurt. “Don’t you want - ?”
“I do. God, I do. So much. But...” Edmund hesitated, unable to look the taller boy in the eye. He was still leaning against the wall, still hard. He felt incredibly exposed. He swallowed. “But we can’t do this.”
“What?” asked Caspian, no comprehension in his voice. “What are you talking about? There’s no one here, it’s -”
“No,” said Edmund, and there was a choking feeling in his throat, a stinging in his eyes. “I can’t do this. Not with you. It - it’s going to hurt too much, don’t you see?” Edmund blinked the stringing in his eyes away. “Caspian... Aslan is going to take me away. He’ll make me return to my world, and last time he only let us stay here for a month. We just... we can’t.”
And Caspian looked angry now, disbelief and pain and vindictive anger twisting his handsome features into an ugly mockery of beauty.
“No,” he said, quickly, harshly. Edmund stared determinedly at the floor. “No, you can’t do this to me, Edmund. You can’t.” His voice was growing louder. “You can’t just - just show up here in my life after I tried so hard to let you go, after I knew I was never going to see you again. You can’t just offer me everything I want and then take it away, I won’t let you.” He grabbed Edmund’s chin in strong fingers and forced his face roughly up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Edmund wrenched his face from Caspian’s grip, throwing out an arm to bat the King’s hand away. “Or what?” he asked. His voice was cold and hard to his own ears, icy and bitter. “What will you do, Caspian? Because I am not your subject. I remain a King of Narnia as well, and you can’t make me do anything.”
The words were designed to hurt, to sting and bite and stab. It worked; Caspian took a shocked step backward, not looking angry anymore. Just... hurt and upset and betrayed.
The fury seeped out of Edmund at the look on Caspian’s face. He took a deep, shaking breath - and reached out a hand to clasp Caspian’s forearm.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - it’s just -” Hi whole body shook, and he bit down firmly on his lower lip. “It’s just that - I don’t think I can survive leaving you again. Caspian, I want this. I want this so bloody much. But -” Edmund heard his own voiced catch and shake. He paused for a moment, tried to calm himself. “But the last time I left you, it nearly killed me - and I barely even knew you. If we do this, and I have to leave again, I don’t - I don’t think I can take it.”
The expression on Caspian’s face was unreadable. And then -
And then all the fight left the King’s body. He slumped, pulling Edmund into a much gentler embrace. The smaller boy tucked his face into Caspian’s chest, breathing slowly. In and out. In and out.
“It’s not fair,” said Caspian dully, arms wrapped around Edmund, holding him close. “It’s just not fair.”
“I know,” said Edmund, voice muffled. One of Caspian’s hands came up and began stroking through his hair softly, comfortingly, and Edmund had to clamp his lips together to stop himself from crying out in pleasure. “It isn’t fair at all.”
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other and breathing. And breathing. And breathing.
“What now?” asked Caspian eventually, fingers still absently twined in Edmund’s curly dark hair.
Edmund shuddered, stopping himself from leaning into the touch. “We stay friends, stay close. Spend time with each other before -” He cut himself off again as Caspian made an involuntary noise at the back of his throat. Edmund pulled away, taking a step back to prevent himself doing something he would regret.
“The Lion wills what the Lion wills,” Edmund said, neutrally. The words sounded empty. Caspian nodded slowly, reluctantly. There was a long pause.
“Now let’s get rid of these wet clothes, eh?” Edmund said, finally, attempting to fill his words with some kind of cheer. “We’re both going to catch our death, and everyone will be wondering where we’ve got to.”
Caspian nodded. They changed into the dry clothes in silence, unspoken words hanging heavily between them.
Part Two
Title: Waves Upon The Shore
Author: emilianadarling
Fandom: Narnia (Movie-verse, though definitely accessible for fans of just the books for sure.)
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, alternate ending to Voyage of the Dawn Treader, brief evil-induced fantasy of non-con
Length: 12,000 words
Summary: Instead of Susan, it is Edmund that Caspian gravitates toward during the Pevensies’ second trip to Narnia. And events unfurl dramatically differently because of it.
Notes: As it worked out, this fic could very easily have another title: “Five Times Caspian and Edmund Almost Kissed -- And One Time They Did”.
YOU GUYS I WROTE THINGS IT IS SUPER EXCITING. :D :D :D
Since it was the recent movie series that got me back into Narnia fandom - and because Edmund and Caspian have so very much chemistry in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Jesus Christ - this is technically movie-verse. However, it is definitely readable for fans of the books/audiobooks/BBC series as well. The sequence of events is a tad different, as is Edmund’s hair colour. Ramandu’s daughter has a name, and it’s Lilliandil. Other than that, the stories are very similar. So feel free to dig in!
Please let me know what you think, everyone! I have never written in Narnia fandom before. Hell, I haven’t written this much in bloody years. I’m eager for feedback. :DI have mad ideas for sequels, so if people enjoy this I'll likely start working on the next installment soon.
1. The Celebration
The festivities on the night of the Narnian victory were brilliant. Vibrant fireworks graced the night sky above the castle, flaring into the darkness and exploding into every colour imaginable as the townspeople pointed and gasped. Unwatered wine flowed freely, bringing colour to human cheeks and making Animal whiskers twitch. Everyone’s laughter was slightly too loud, the dancing a little too frantic.
To Caspian, the shimmering streaks of colour against the black night looked identical to the ones that had celebrated the birth of his cousin. That had heralded the end to everything he knew, and the resurrection of an old world.
The soon-to-be-King sat at the far end of a great wooden table, a grand bonfire having been assembled in the middle of the castle courtyard. The air was filled with a cacophony of noise; the throaty chuckles of dwarfs into deep mugs, the clack of hooves on stone as centaurs cantered about, the clamour of laughter and chatter from humans. King Peter sat on a large set of stone steps, speaking animatedly to a group of human and Animal generals about the duel with Miraz, the thick cloth bandages wrapped around his chest visible at the opening of his shirt. Caspian could hear the words ‘honour’ and ‘valour’ as they drifted across the courtyard. Queen Susan was dancing animatedly around the fire with a young Telmarine boy; he was tall and gangly, and his steps were slightly stilted. Nonetheless, her high, delighted laugh was audible through the din as she gracefully led him around the courtyard. And Queen Lucy, young and bright and brilliant, danced with a cluster of Animals. Surrounded by a dancing Badger, Bear, and Fox, she had never looked more at home. The firelight danced around the unusual group as they flung and tossed themselves wantonly to the music.
King Edmund was nowhere to be seen.
The noise pounded in Caspian’s ears. The wine had put a fierce heat in his cheeks that was beginning to grow uncomfortable; the smoke from the fire made his eyes sting and his throat grow dry.
The outward cheer and frivolity did not make him forget the dark looks so many townsfolk had given the procession as they entered the town, or the quiet mutterings among the Narnian army that afternoon. For every dancing citizen here tonight, there were ten more who were unsatisfied with the way things had turned out. For the compromises to come.
Caspian realized thickly that the Telmarine military officer next to him - General, Captain, he couldn’t seem to remember - had been attempting to strike up a conversation with him about trade relations with Archenland for some considerable length of time.
“I’m so sorry, good man,” said Caspian smoothly, attempting to draw himself up and look apologetic simultaneously. “It has been a long day. I believe I may be ready for rest.”
The officer - a ruddy-faced man with a rounded nose and greying hair - smiled widely and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. His breath smelled of roast beast and mulled mead, thick and cloying. “S’all right, my lad,” he said, giving Caspian’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should go get some rest. Save those troubles for the morning, eh?” He chucked heartily, smiled, and returned to conversation with the man on his other side.
Caspian rose to his feet slowly, wondering if anyone would comment upon his early departure.
No one did.
He reached the tall doors leading to the castle interior undisturbed, prying them open a bit too frantically and walking briskly through the dark hallways. It was cooler inside; a relief after the blistering heat of the fire. He marched purposefully through the hallway, up a flight of stairs, and along another corridor. When he was sure he had escaped unnoticed, Caspian slowed and finally stopped beside a grand stone balcony that looked over the darkened, rolling town. Letting out a long, shaking sigh, the prince leaned bonelessly against the stone entrance to the balcony, head in his hands.
“Hello, there.”
Caspian jumped, hard, heart in his throat and hand flying to his sword before he could identify the voice.
But it was only Edmund, sitting on a large stone bench on the wide balcony and looking at him with veiled amusement on his face. It was dark, but Caspian’s eyes had adjusted. The dark-eyed boy was plainly visible from the prince’s vantage point; he had not seen Edmund simply because he had not been looking.
“Hello,” said Caspian, still breathing heavily as he moved his fingers away from his sword hilt. “I didn’t see you there,” he said, which made him cringe internally. Because, really. Obvious.
Edmund laughed, the sound unexpected on the still night air. “I noticed,” he said warmly, and Caspian noticed an empty plate sitting on the floor of the balcony for the first time.
“You are not enjoying the festivities?” asked Caspian, and Edmund shook his head softly.
“No, not really. It’s no reflection on you, though. I’m not really one for feasts or dances, no matter how much experience I may have in enduring them.” He smiled as he said this, but Caspian was struck afresh by the fact that he was, in fact, speaking to King Edmund the Just. King Edmund, who had played a starring role in all of the stories that Doctor Cornelius used to tell him when he was a boy. Who led battles, and skilfully led on politicians, and ruled this country over a thousand years ago. He was speaking to King Edmund the Just, who looked like a boy but had all the life experience of a full grown man.
When he was younger, Caspian used to imagine that he and the great High King Peter would have been the perfect pair of friends, had they been alive in the same century. Magnificent and glorious and courageous, Cornelius’ tales painted the Peter as an authority above man, a golden boy of honour and duty and bravery. Young Caspian saw himself leading armies into battle with the High King, presiding over grand feasts and posturing to foreign generals side by side.
But now that the characters of his childhood fantasies had actually come to life, Cornelius’ long-ago words giving way to flesh and blood. In reality, Caspian and Peter together were explosive, volatile. Against all his youthful expectations, it was Edmund he had found himself drawn to.
Edmund, who was all quiet contemplation and tactics and strategy, doing what needed to be done with icy determination. So much smaller and younger than Caspian had ever imagined him, Edmund was not overtly belligerent and full of fervour like Peter or Lucy, nor was he quietly civilized and refined like Susan. He was thoughtfulness and necessity - and a deep love for his old kingdom that resonated in everything he did, once you knew where to look. Edmund was understated passion and comprehension and a willingness to do what needed to be done.
Edmund was also dark curls along small ears, and full lips, and light freckles along pale skin. He was smouldering brown eyes and a soft, sweet voice.
But it was better if Caspian did not think about that.
The former King of Narnia was looking at him quizzically now, eyebrows furrowed together. “Are you all right, Caspian? It’s been a long day.”
Oh. Edmund’s voice as it wrapped about his name, his strange Narnian accent twisting around the vowels, was just devastating. Caspian let out a shaky breath.
“I am fine, but...” He searched around, deciding on a true response. “I am worried for my people. For this new Narnia.” The prince moved forward and sat next to Edmund on the stone bench; not to get closer to the boy, of course. To facilitate easier conversation. Caspian expected to have to explain himself, but Edmund was already nodding, a look of comprehension in his eyes.
“Mm,” said the former king, nodding and looking thoughtful as he seemed to carefully select his next words. Now that he was next to him, Caspian could smell the cleanness of Edmund’s skin; he must have bathed upon his arrival at the castle. He smelled of lye soap and clear Narnian water and a subtle hint of Edmund that was unique to him. Caspian breathed in deeply under the guise of deep thought.
Edmund spoke. “You worry that you are to rule over a divided people. You believe that the hatred may run too deep; that Telmarines and Narnians will never be able to reconcile their differences and form a new nation together.”
“There is so much anger and bitterness in all of them,” said Caspian, his voice hollow. “And none of it is unjustified. The Narnians were almost wiped out by the Telmarine invasion and occupation, and they want their home back again.” The prince ran a hand through his long, dark hair as he spoke. “But the Telmarines who live here now have done so for generations. This is the home they have always known, and they don’t want to share it with those they see as outsiders. It’s an awful mess, and no one is right.” Caspian turned to Edmund, and the moonlight was shining off his pale, freckled skin. “How do you unite a country whose citizens have fought and killed each other? How do you live side by side to those who murdered your people, who saw your species as not worth living? And how to do allow yourself to be ruled by one who shares the appearance of those who senselessly slaughtered your people?”
Caspian dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Edmund. I just... I don’t know how to make it all okay again.”
There was a long pause as Caspian’s words hung between them, so long that the prince began to wonder if Edmund had nothing to say. And then -
“Do you know what happened when I first came to Narnia?” asked Edmund. Slowly. Carefully.
“What?” Caspian raised his head, and turned to look at the former king again. “When you four came through to the lamp post, and defeated the White Witch, and began your rule in Cair Paravel -?”
“No,” said Edmund, voice quiet but firm. He seemed to be attempting to not look Caspian in the eye. “Not all that. I mean before then. Do... do the histories discuss what happened between the myself and the White Witch?”
Caspian shook his head, baffled. The stories Cornelius told him had largely focused on the depths of the Golden Age -once the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve had taken the throne. The years of plenty; of victorious battles and booming trade and widespread contentment. He knew the story of the White Witch’s defeat, but could not remember a facet of the legend that related solely to Edmund.
The dark-haired boy chuckled softly, sombrely. “I suppose they wanted to remember me in a glorious light,” he murmured. “Not too tarnished.” He took a deep breath.
“Lucy arrived here first,” Edmund spoke slowly, eyes still starting straight ahead. “She came through from our world and discovered a land of ice and snow and magic. She was so young. None of us believed her when she came back and told us of the things she’d seen.” He smiled humourlessly, the soft boyish lines of his face illuminated by moonlight. “I was ten, and so very lonely. I always felt overshadowed by my siblings. I came through the - the portal after her one day, but you know that time between our worlds is different. I arrived alone into the cold and met a beautiful, kind woman who fed me sweets and gave me drink and told me I was special.” He turned his head toward Caspian, and his eyes were full of sadness. “The White Witch.”
“No,” breathed Caspian, horrified. The beginning of every tale Cornelius had ever told him began to play distantly in his mind.
Long ago, at the hands of the White Witch, Narnia was a land of ice and snow, of cruelty and darkness and evil.
“Yeah,” said Edmund, dully. His head tilted down, eyes trained on the floor between them. “And I believed every word she told me, for a while. I betrayed my siblings, treated them so very badly. I betrayed the world that welcomed me into it for the promise of power and love and being special.” The last word was almost spat out, and ugly disgust curled Edmund’s pretty, soft-looking lips. “I realized my mistake later, of course, but it was too late. I was a traitor. And by the law of Narnia, the blood of traitors was forfeit to the Witch.”
Even though Caspian knew how the story must have ended - with Edmund safe and well and alive - sickly fear still gripped his chest. Edmund had been ten. Young, so very young, when all this came to pass. Young and foolish. The thought of a small, scared, delicate Edmund turned over to the figure Cornelius had always described of as the epitome of evil and manipulation and depravity made his stomach churn and horror choke in his throat.
“But then,” said Edmund, and he was smiling now. A slow tug of amusement or fondness pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Aslan saved me. He forfeited his life for mine, and the Witch sacrificed him on the Stone Table. His blood for mine. The Old Magic brought him back, and together we purged the land of the Witch’s evil.” He caught Caspian’s eyes. “You met the Witch once, while we were here. In Aslan’s How.”
There was a pause, and Caspian had no idea what to say. He remembered the wall of ice, and the beauty of the pale woman inside. Her entrancing, silky smooth voice. They way she saw into his and Peter’s minds, enticed them. Claimed them. And the darkness in Edmund’s eyes when he unhesitatingly stabbed her through. Any possible response seemed empty, insufficient. Edmund was looking thoughtful again, clearly searching for his next words cautiously.
“Peter and Susan and Lucy are all wonderful people, and they made glorious leaders. I don’t want to sound like I’m saying otherwise. But Narnia has always been a safe place in many ways for them. A world of good and evil, right and wrong. They’re good and decent, through and through. Always have been.” He took a deep breath. “Narnia has never been so simple for me. Since I first arrived, it has showed me pain, confusion, evil. The darkness inside myself. I overcame it, but I never forgot it. It’s made me who I am.”
And now Edmund reached out, taking one of Caspian’s thick, strong hands in one of his delicate ones. The former King’s fingers were long and pale, and the touch sent shivers down Caspian’s spine. His eyes were locked with Caspian now, full of conviction and shining slightly.
“The people of Narnia were able to accept me, a traitor, as their King. And Aslan would never put you in charge of a circumstance you could not overcome. Aslan has faith in you, Caspian, like he had faith in me. I have faith in you.”
Caspian was breathing heavily now, unable to look away from the smaller boy’s eyes.
Stars above, he’s beautiful. He’s so, so beautiful. And so very broken.
Slowly, Caspian reached up with his unclasped hand and curled it around the back of Edmund’s neck. The skin there was cool, and smooth, and Edmund licked his lips and shivered at the touch. Caspian leaned in, closer and closer until -
“Edmund! Caspian! What are you doing out here? Come and join the party!”
They jolted away from each other as though from an electric shock, hands retreating back to safety. Caspian looked up - and it was Lucy. Tiny Lucy, flushed and happy and clearly having had more wine than her small frame could handle. She was grinning madly and slightly unsteady on her feet.
“Come on, you two!” she exclaimed, dashing forward and grabbing taking one of their hands in either of hers. “I was playing Hide and Go Find with some of the Beavers, and I must have got turned around. Help me find my way back to the feast, and we can get some jollity in you yet! Ed, I know you hate feasts, but just this once won’t hurt you, I swear.”
As Lucy tugged them out into the hallway and back to the feast, Caspian chanced a glance at Edmund. His cheeks and neck were flushed, lips still wet from where he licked them earlier.
Caspian shivered and followed the young Queen obediently. He did not get another chance to speak to Edmund in private for the rest of the night.
--
The next day, he and Aslan addressed the massed Telmarines. They laid out their options: live peacefully with the Narnians or be sent to the other world. Fleetingly, Caspian began to feel as though everything could be all right one day. That he could rebuild this divided world.
And then Aslan made it known that the Pevensies were leaving. That Peter and Susan were never coming back.
And no. No no no no, because the last time they left, it had been for hundreds of years. If they - if Edmund ever returned, Caspian would be dead - long gone, long buried. He tried to catch Edmund’s eye, but the young man had stiffened at Aslan’s words. Refusing to look at him. Caspian tried to hold it together - for the crowd of Telmarines and Narnians, for Aslan. For Edmund. But the twin claws of desperation and panic were beginning to claw at his insides.
The four Kings and Queens turned to go, but Caspian caught Edmund by the forearm.
“Edmund,” he said, frantically, clinging to the smaller boy. “Edmund, please.”
He could feel the confused buzz begin to rise around them - from the Pevensies, from the gathered crowd. Edmund looked up - and oh. His mouth was slightly open, breath coming heavier than normal. His eyes were shining, and he was blinking more than usual.
He looked perfect. Beautiful. His.
And then Edmund reached up, grasped Caspian’s hand. Gently, he pulled it away.
“Goodbye. Caspian.” His accent swirled around Caspian’s name, and he sounded slightly choked. And then... Caspian could see the barrier of detachment and acceptance go up in his eyes. The shine disappeared; instead, icy coldness fell over them. The comprehension of necessity.
He squeezed Caspian’s hand one last time, then turned and walked through the barrier first.
He left Caspian with a kingdom to unite and a hole in his heart.
2. Dragging Monarchs from Sea
Edmund’s mouth was full of the cloying, salty taste of the sea when he was pulled aboard. He coughed, wiping a hand across his mouth as he took in the scene around him. They were on a great ship in the middle of a wide, unending sea. The one from the painting. Its bow had been carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, proud and regal; Edmund could see the gold adornments along its back spines from where he stood. The ship was solid, a work of art in rigging and sails and detail. It teemed with laughing young men wearing white shirt sleeves, pointing and smiling at the strangers the sea had offered up.
It was a pale imitation of the ships that he and his siblings had sailed in the Golden Age. But God, it was still beautiful.
Eustace was being dragged unwillingly aboard by a strong-looking man, and he could see Lucy ahead with a thick, rough blanket around her shoulders. A man with long, dark hair had his arm around her, and he was speaking conspiratorially into her ear. He was facing away, but his face was turned just far enough to the side that Edmund could see he was smiling. Edmund’s heart caught in his throat.
Caspian.
The King of Narnia turned, and Edmund realized he must have spoken out loud without realizing it. Caspian’s face broke into a wide, ecstatic grin, and Edmund felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the bright sun. He’s grown a beard, he thought distractedly, as though that piece of information was of any import. It looked good on him. Edmund had never imagined Caspian as anything except clean-shaven, but oh. With his clothes soaking wet, long pale shirt dragged down by the weight of the sea water, and his lips surrounded by fine dark hair, he looked shockingly handsome.
And overjoyed to see him.
“Edmund,” said Caspian, voice full of delight and disbelief. And something else. Something darker and warmer and remarkably intimate. Caspian darted forward suddenly and wrapped a second blanket around Edmund’s soaking frame. He pulled the smaller boy tight against him easily, gripping Edmund’s shoulder in a firm, inescapable hold. Edmund wrapped an arm around Caspian’s waist, feeling the strong, slender build hiding underneath his soaking shirt. He felt solid beneath Edmund’s fingers. Real. Nothing at all like a dream come to life. “How wonderful it is to have you back in Narnia,” Caspian murmured. His accent was... different. More Narnian. Edmund imagined him cultivating it, practicing it over the years. He remembered their conversation the night of the celebration - how to do allow yourself to be ruled by one who shares the appearance of those who senselessly slaughtered your people? - and smiled.
Caspian was leaning close now, his breath tickling against Edmund’s ear. And Edmund understood. Because Caspian was a King, and Kings had responsibilities and reputations and duties to uphold.
He was waiting to get Edmund in private, in some hidden nook of the ship.
Edmund could wait. Long practice had turned him into an endlessly patient man, even in the most desperate of situations.
Eustace made a fuss, of course, demanding attention and making a scene. Edmund attempted to feel sympathy at his frantic disbelief upon seeing the talking Animals, but his skin was thrumming too persistently to care overmuch. Finally, finally, Caspian put Lucy away in his private chambers with a set of men’s clothes to change into and led Edmund down to the supply hull to rid themselves of their own soaking garments. Caspian descended first. Edmund had only just reached the bottom of the sturdy ladder, having placed one foot on the solid floor when he turned to face his companion.
“Caspian -” he began, but was cut off as the taller boy slammed into him, pulling him into a crushing hug and burying his face in Edmund’s neck.
For a moment Edmund stood stunned in the embrace, gripped tight against Caspian’s sharply rising and falling chest. His hands rested awkwardly at his sides for a long moment before he slowly raised them up and wrapped them, tentatively, around Caspian’s waist.
“You came back.” Caspian’s voice was thick and wavering as he clutched Edmund desperately to his chest, his arms pulled so tightly around Edmund’s torso that it almost hurts. “You came back to me.”
How long has it been for him? Edmund thought vaguely as he held the trembling King in his arms. Years, certainly. But how many? Caspian’s breath was coming hard and fast and hot against Edmund’s cold, wet neck. “I always thought - I thought that when you returned, I would be -”
“I know,” said Edmund, relaxing into Caspian’s embrace. Because he did know. Edmund thought of the long year away at school with Peter after they returned from Caspian’s victory. The loud and raucous boys in uniform who shouted and fought and meant nothing at all. Peter’s worried looks, his fair eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his younger brother made it through every day quiet and darkly contemplative and detached. Supportive claps on the shoulder and murmured words. You can tell me anything, Ed. You know that, right?
He thought of all the nights he bit his lips raw as he took himself in hand in his dormitory, the room full of sleeping boys, trying so hard to be silent. How he allowed himself only then to think of long dark hair and passionate eyes and strong sword-calloused hands, of doubts and uncertainties, of reassurances. Of what had almost happened.
How he would come into his hand with a stifled gasp, sick with the realization that he was fantasizing to thoughts of a dead man. The last time they were gone, they lost over a thousand years; and Edmund had known with utter, nauseating certainty that he would never see Caspian again.
“I know,” he said again. “It’s okay. I’m back now.” His hands tightened in Caspian’s wet tunic.
And the King’s lips began to move along his neck, pressing firmly in a quick succession of almost-kisses along the sensitive skin, making Edmund shudder and his breath quicken.
“Caspian -”
But then he was being shoved back, almost stumbling over a barrel as Caspian pushed him hard against the storage room wall with his whole body, never giving him an inch. Edmund’s back slammed against it and Caspian was there, clutching at his upper arms and holding them easily against the panelling. His face was buried in Edmund’s neck, teeth sharp and mouth unrelenting as he bit and sucked at the delicate flesh. He must taste of the sea, Edmund through vaguely, before gasping as Caspian pressed their hips together. He could feel the taller boy’s hardness through his sopping trousers, could feel how desperately he wanted this.
Edmund felt his hands spasm and clench at his sides, and he tilted his head to the side to allow Caspian greater access. Caspian groaned and redoubled his efforts, sucking hard enough to leave marks. He ground their hips together, once, twice, and a sharp keen of frantic arousal escaped from Edmund’s throat as they writhed together.
And suddenly, with such certainty it shook him to the core, Edmund knew that this could not happen.
He saw Caspian carrying on without him after he left, getting married and having children and forgetting all about the strange young boy from another world. He saw himself going back to England and living his life and pretending none of it had ever happened, pretending it didn’t matter. Of lying to Susan and Peter, to Lucy. He thought of Caspian old and withered, dead and dying, hair long and grey and hanging limply under a heavy crown. A gravestone that Edmund would never see.
Edmund was strong, and hard, and he could even be cold. But he knew he could not survive leaving this man again if this went any further.
“Caspian,” he choked out, attempting to pull his arms free and his neck out of reach of the hot, frenetic lips. Caspian growled and held firm, lips moving up and pressing hard kisses along Edmund’s jaw, his cheek. “Caspian.” He was unused to being in this small, frail body during such moments of passion, and his inability to wrench away from the grip was frustrating - as well as slightly frightening. Caspian’s lips reached the corner of his mouth. In his most regal, commanding voice he stated:
“Caspian. Stop.”
And that had an effect. Blinking, the long-haired boy pulled away sharply, looking at him with confusion. His eyes were still full of desperation and need. But he released Edmund’s arms, moved away infinitesimally from Edmund’s body.
“What’s wrong?” asked Caspian, still panting, and beginning to look hurt. “Don’t you want - ?”
“I do. God, I do. So much. But...” Edmund hesitated, unable to look the taller boy in the eye. He was still leaning against the wall, still hard. He felt incredibly exposed. He swallowed. “But we can’t do this.”
“What?” asked Caspian, no comprehension in his voice. “What are you talking about? There’s no one here, it’s -”
“No,” said Edmund, and there was a choking feeling in his throat, a stinging in his eyes. “I can’t do this. Not with you. It - it’s going to hurt too much, don’t you see?” Edmund blinked the stringing in his eyes away. “Caspian... Aslan is going to take me away. He’ll make me return to my world, and last time he only let us stay here for a month. We just... we can’t.”
And Caspian looked angry now, disbelief and pain and vindictive anger twisting his handsome features into an ugly mockery of beauty.
“No,” he said, quickly, harshly. Edmund stared determinedly at the floor. “No, you can’t do this to me, Edmund. You can’t.” His voice was growing louder. “You can’t just - just show up here in my life after I tried so hard to let you go, after I knew I was never going to see you again. You can’t just offer me everything I want and then take it away, I won’t let you.” He grabbed Edmund’s chin in strong fingers and forced his face roughly up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Edmund wrenched his face from Caspian’s grip, throwing out an arm to bat the King’s hand away. “Or what?” he asked. His voice was cold and hard to his own ears, icy and bitter. “What will you do, Caspian? Because I am not your subject. I remain a King of Narnia as well, and you can’t make me do anything.”
The words were designed to hurt, to sting and bite and stab. It worked; Caspian took a shocked step backward, not looking angry anymore. Just... hurt and upset and betrayed.
The fury seeped out of Edmund at the look on Caspian’s face. He took a deep, shaking breath - and reached out a hand to clasp Caspian’s forearm.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - it’s just -” Hi whole body shook, and he bit down firmly on his lower lip. “It’s just that - I don’t think I can survive leaving you again. Caspian, I want this. I want this so bloody much. But -” Edmund heard his own voiced catch and shake. He paused for a moment, tried to calm himself. “But the last time I left you, it nearly killed me - and I barely even knew you. If we do this, and I have to leave again, I don’t - I don’t think I can take it.”
The expression on Caspian’s face was unreadable. And then -
And then all the fight left the King’s body. He slumped, pulling Edmund into a much gentler embrace. The smaller boy tucked his face into Caspian’s chest, breathing slowly. In and out. In and out.
“It’s not fair,” said Caspian dully, arms wrapped around Edmund, holding him close. “It’s just not fair.”
“I know,” said Edmund, voice muffled. One of Caspian’s hands came up and began stroking through his hair softly, comfortingly, and Edmund had to clamp his lips together to stop himself from crying out in pleasure. “It isn’t fair at all.”
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other and breathing. And breathing. And breathing.
“What now?” asked Caspian eventually, fingers still absently twined in Edmund’s curly dark hair.
Edmund shuddered, stopping himself from leaning into the touch. “We stay friends, stay close. Spend time with each other before -” He cut himself off again as Caspian made an involuntary noise at the back of his throat. Edmund pulled away, taking a step back to prevent himself doing something he would regret.
“The Lion wills what the Lion wills,” Edmund said, neutrally. The words sounded empty. Caspian nodded slowly, reluctantly. There was a long pause.
“Now let’s get rid of these wet clothes, eh?” Edmund said, finally, attempting to fill his words with some kind of cheer. “We’re both going to catch our death, and everyone will be wondering where we’ve got to.”
Caspian nodded. They changed into the dry clothes in silence, unspoken words hanging heavily between them.
Part Two