Restless
Title: Restless
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters/Pairing: Edmund/Caspian
Disclaimer: CS Lewis has been dead for some time. If he were posting this stuff on the internet that would be weird, wouldn't it? Narnia is now owned by his estate, Walden Media & Disney. Not me.
Summary: Prince Caspian fic. Caspian can't relax after the battle. Edmund helps out.
Rating: PG-13.
Word count: Approx 2500.
Author's notes: One-shot in the same book/movie-blend world as Storytellers , Proving Ground and Understanding. Slashy. Thanks to bluelittlegirl for the beta.
It came as no surprise to Caspian that Peter seemed on edge after the battle. He could see him on the far side of the fire, laughing loudly, allowing himself to be pulled into one dance after another, accepting the drinks that were pushed into his hands. Constantly moving. What did come as a surprise to Caspian was that he felt the same.
He felt too big for his skin; like he was full of so much energy buzzing inside that he couldn’t contain it, and if he didn’t scream or run or do something he would explode. There had been several attempts to pull him into the dancing by various fauns and dryads, and at one point Lucy, but he had never been much of a dancer, and it didn’t seem to do much to relieve the furious humming inside him.
A touch on his arm made him turn; Edmund stood beside him with two cups of the deep blood-red wine Bacchus, Silenus and their strange girls had provided out of thin air (and Caspian was trying not to think about that because, really, it was all too much). Edmund passed one of the cups to Caspian and sat down. There was an awkward moment when Caspian’s legs did not seem to want to obey his instructions before he joined Edmund on the soft grass. He thought he saw a smile pull at the corners of Edmund’s mouth, although it was hard to tell in the flickering light.
The wine was rich and heady and Caspian could feel himself relaxing more with every sip. Perhaps if he drank enough of it the fever would be subdued. The dancers leapt and twisted around the fire and between the trees; the trees twisted between the dancers, and the whole thing was a riot of limbs and branches and flames that could not possibly be safe. Caspian had never seen anything quite like it; Telmarine dances were much more formal, and tended not to involve trees at all. Lucy and Peter were dancing nearby with a group of girls from Beruna, their faces radiant in the glow of the flames, their eyes alight. He couldn’t see Susan anywhere.
Caspian glanced at Edmund who was watching Peter and Lucy whirl around each other, laughing when a group of dwarves had to dive out of the way of Lucy’s flying skirts. It occurred to him that he had not seen Edmund laugh before tonight.
“You do not dance?” Caspian said. Edmund turned to him, the smile still playing around his lips.
“Sometimes.”
“But not tonight.”
“Not tonight.”
Despite the soothing effects of the wine, Caspian found he could not quite sit still. If his hand was not tapping against the side of his cup, his foot was twitching or his fingers were drumming against the ground. After several minutes of this, Edmund leaned over and placed his hand over Caspian’s. The fingers stopped moving instantly; Caspian’s whole arm felt locked in place.
“You know, that’s really quite annoying.”
“Sorry. I just-” Caspian pulled his hand away in frustration. How could he begin to explain it?
“Don’t know what to do with yourself?”
“That’s a good way of putting it. It was not like this after we attacked the castle.”
“Well, we lost then.” Caspian winced at Edmund’s matter-of-fact tone but Edmund paid no attention. “And there was the battle to prepare for. You had something to do with all the energy. Now it’s over and you’re still, you know.” He waved a hand at Caspian’s foot, which had started twitching again.
“I feel like I could just run and run. Is it always like this?”
“Yes. It’s alright though, once you figure out how to deal with it. Good, even. Peter’s like you, can’t sit still. He’ll dance until he falls down. Lucy’s the same, although to be honest she doesn’t need a battle as an excuse to dance all night. Susan has her own way of coping.” Edmund grimaced and Caspian refrained from asking what her way was. It wasn’t hard to work out: Bacchus was nowhere in sight either.
“What about you? I mean, how do you deal with it?”
“It depends. Sometimes I dance with the others. Sometimes I prefer to be quiet.”
“And you are not dancing tonight,” Caspian said quietly.
A slow smile spread across Edmund’s face. “No, I’m not.” Caspian could not help the grin he gave in return.
“Aren’t you two dancing?” Susan’s voice made them both jump.
“Does it look like we’re dancing?” Edmund said.
“No. What are you doing?”
“Just talking. Caspian’s feeling a little fidgety after the battle.”
“Ah,” Susan said with understanding, sitting down and arranging her skirts around her. She looked a lot more relaxed than Caspian had seen her thus far, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks. On the other hand, Caspian was quite certain Edmund was considerably more tense than he had been.
“I remember we used to tell stories after battle,” Susan said wistfully. “It was wonderful, everyone sitting by the fire, talking and laughing. Do you remember, Ed, the stories Mr Beaver used to tell? And the squirrels who lived up by Lantern Waste?” Edmund nodded with a smile that quickly turned into a frown as a shadow passed over Susan’s face.
“Caspian, tell us some Telmarine stories,” Edmund said, and Susan brightened at the change of subject.
“Oh, yes. I love Narnian stories but your people must have some of your own.”
Feeling awkward as they both looked at him expectantly, Caspian began the story of how his people had left Telmar looking for a better life. It occurred to him belatedly that this was perhaps not the best story to tell, but his audience didn’t seem to mind. His confidence grew as he spoke the words that every Telmarine is taught from childhood, though he did some judicious editing as he went along. He did not think Edmund and Susan’s tolerance would stretch to hearing about the first Caspian’s glorious victory over the Narnian vermin. He didn’t really want to hear about it himself.
His audience had grown by the time he finished and he suddenly felt self-conscious again. He had not expected the Narnians to be so curious about Telmarine history. He tried to think of a story that did not involve the massacre of innocent Talking Beasts or the indiscriminate felling of trees but, although he knew there were many, he couldn’t come up with a single one. So he asked Edmund and Susan to share stories from their world instead.
The group grew and shrank as the night wore on and people took a break from the dancing, joining them for a story or two before returning to the party. Trufflehunter told how Narnia came into being, then Lucy told the story (which she must have told a thousand times but which she told again happily) of how she first came into Narnia. Peter told them about the city of Troy, which was besieged for years and years for the love of a woman. Edmund grumbled about how Susan had caused more trouble than a dozen Helens when they had ruled and everyone laughed as she swatted his arm and glared at him, too merry and full of drink to do anything else. Doctor Cornelius told the story of the great sorcerer of the Lone Islands who had terrorised all the land and how his defeat had gifted the islands to Narnia forever.
Eventually everyone drifted away, to their own groups or back to the dancing, until just Edmund and Caspian remained. The thrumming in Caspian’s blood that had receded into the background had returned, and he felt more attuned to the world than ever before. The grass was softer and fresher, the stars brighter, the wind in the trees sweeter, the smoke from the fire more pungent. His hand, resting on the ground between them, felt hot all along the side where it touched Edmund’s. A shiver ran through him as a cool breeze ruffled Edmund’s hair, making it flutter against the back of his neck.
“Are you alright?” Edmund asked, dropping back onto the grass and propping himself up on his side with his elbow. The movement took his hand away from Caspian’s and the space between them suddenly felt a lot bigger. Caspian lay down beside him, mirroring his posture.
“I’m fine. I am just- I don‘t know. Thinking.”
“Worried about the future?”
“Yes,” Caspian said, because he didn’t want to say he had been thinking about Edmund’s hair. It was not really a lie; he was worried about the future. “I have been so focussed on defeating my uncle and freeing Narnia and trying to stay alive, I did not really think beyond that. And now I’m here and there’s so much to do. Where do I even start?” It was not a rhetorical question but Edmund apparently thought it was. At any rate, he did not offer any suggestions as to what Caspian should do next. “I am a traitor to my own people and many of them will want my head for it. The Narnians will want their land back; the Telmarines won’t want to give it up. How am I supposed to keep everybody happy?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to sleep for about a week.”
Edmund laughed. “Sorry. You’re the king now, or as good as. Sleeping doesn’t figure largely in your future.” He brushed something from Caspian’s shoulder, making his hair tickle his cheek. His hand remained a moment before falling away. “What else do you want?”
What did he want? He wanted to not have to deal with the awful mess that lay before him. He wanted to not have to rebuild a kingdom and try to reconcile two peoples who had hated and feared each other for centuries. He wanted to find Destrier and ride until he couldn’t ride any more. He wanted to run. He wanted Peter to stop treating him like an idiot. He wanted to possess just a fraction of Susan’s composure. He wanted to know something of the abandon Lucy felt as she danced.
He wanted to lie here in the firelight with Edmund and share stories.
“I want…” he began. Edmund’s eyes were warm and glittering, and the noise around them seemed very far away.
Edmund’s smile was knowing as he leaned forward and, in the half-light, where anyone could see them if they chose to look, brushed his lips across Caspian’s; the barest whisper of a touch. “What do you want?”
Caspian caught his breath, and in that single terrifying moment he knew. He wanted this. He wanted Edmund’s lips moving on his, the pressure gradually increasing, oh so slowly. He wanted his own eyelids flickering shut and his lips responding tentatively to Edmund’s kiss. He wanted Edmund’s hand brushing gently up his neck and across his jaw before threading through his hair. He wanted Edmund’s tongue sweeping against his lips, causing them to part with a gasp. He wanted his hand on Edmund’s cheek, the skin there smooth and warm. He wanted the sharp thrill that ran through him when Edmund bit gently on his lower lip. He wanted the low moan that came from deep in Edmund’s throat when he reciprocated. He wanted the soft breath that tickled his cheek as Edmund pulled away from him.
They lay there, still propped on their elbows, foreheads resting together. Edmund’s hand was still in his hair, Caspian’s own hand settling against Edmund’s collarbone just where the pale skin met the deep blue of his tunic. Edmund’s eyes were still closed; Caspian would not have looked away for the world. Caspian still wanted. He wanted to take Edmund’s face between his hands and kiss him until they were both light-headed. He wanted his hands to trace the line of Edmund’s throat down below his collar and keep going until they had mapped every inch of his skin. He wanted Edmund writhing and arching beneath him. He wanted Edmund over him; face flushed, lips parted. He wanted Edmund’s skin against his own, sweat-slick and searing. He wanted Edmund’s breath ragged in his ear.
That was unlikely to happen here though. A quick kiss in the half-dark was one thing, tearing Edmund’s clothes off in full view of everyone was quite another. But this was not some pretty young sister of a visiting dignitary or a cousin of one of the minor lords. This was something else entirely. This was Edmund, and Caspian did not know where to go from here.
Edmund opened his eyes and pulled his head back slightly, his hand dropping from Caspian’s hair and coming to rest against the side of his neck. Caspian could feel his own pulse beating wildly against Edmund’s fingers. They were still so close that when Edmund spoke, Caspian could feel his words dance across his skin. His voice was strained. “There used to be a hidden glade about half a mile from here. Do-”
“Ed! Caspian! Come and dance with me!”
At the sound of Lucy’s voice, Caspian pulled away from Edmund as though he were on fire. Edmund’s reaction was more leisurely, making no move away from Caspian, but he still lost little time in taking his hand from neck. Caspian had never been so displeased to see someone he liked.
“Not now, Lu,” Edmund said as she joined them. His voice became stronger with every word. “We’re talking.”
“You can talk any time. Tonight is for dancing.”
“Not for us it’s not. And Caspian’s a terrible dancer, it’s not fair to force him.”
“Hey,” Caspian said as Lucy laughed. “I am not that bad.” His own voice was not nearly as controlled as Edmund’s.
“Of course you’re not,” Lucy said. “Edmund just thinks he’s being funny. But I won’t make you if you really don’t want to.” She caught the hands of a passing dryad and was gone in a trice.
Silence reigned as they watched the dancers once more. Caspian tried to follow the intricate movements of their feet but his eyes could not keep up. When he turned to look at Edmund, he found that Edmund was studying him. A long moment passed in which Caspian’s gaze flicked repeatedly from Edmund’s mouth to his eyes and back again while Edmund scrutinised him. Then, without a word, he grasped Caspian’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Edmund smiled, his eyes full of promise, and then turned and led him away from the fire.
As soon as they were out of sight of the crowd, Edmund broke into a run. Caspian laughed, tightened his grip on Edmund’s hand, and together they ran and ran.
Fandom: The Chronicles of Narnia
Characters/Pairing: Edmund/Caspian
Disclaimer: CS Lewis has been dead for some time. If he were posting this stuff on the internet that would be weird, wouldn't it? Narnia is now owned by his estate, Walden Media & Disney. Not me.
Summary: Prince Caspian fic. Caspian can't relax after the battle. Edmund helps out.
Rating: PG-13.
Word count: Approx 2500.
Author's notes: One-shot in the same book/movie-blend world as Storytellers , Proving Ground and Understanding. Slashy. Thanks to bluelittlegirl for the beta.
It came as no surprise to Caspian that Peter seemed on edge after the battle. He could see him on the far side of the fire, laughing loudly, allowing himself to be pulled into one dance after another, accepting the drinks that were pushed into his hands. Constantly moving. What did come as a surprise to Caspian was that he felt the same.
He felt too big for his skin; like he was full of so much energy buzzing inside that he couldn’t contain it, and if he didn’t scream or run or do something he would explode. There had been several attempts to pull him into the dancing by various fauns and dryads, and at one point Lucy, but he had never been much of a dancer, and it didn’t seem to do much to relieve the furious humming inside him.
A touch on his arm made him turn; Edmund stood beside him with two cups of the deep blood-red wine Bacchus, Silenus and their strange girls had provided out of thin air (and Caspian was trying not to think about that because, really, it was all too much). Edmund passed one of the cups to Caspian and sat down. There was an awkward moment when Caspian’s legs did not seem to want to obey his instructions before he joined Edmund on the soft grass. He thought he saw a smile pull at the corners of Edmund’s mouth, although it was hard to tell in the flickering light.
The wine was rich and heady and Caspian could feel himself relaxing more with every sip. Perhaps if he drank enough of it the fever would be subdued. The dancers leapt and twisted around the fire and between the trees; the trees twisted between the dancers, and the whole thing was a riot of limbs and branches and flames that could not possibly be safe. Caspian had never seen anything quite like it; Telmarine dances were much more formal, and tended not to involve trees at all. Lucy and Peter were dancing nearby with a group of girls from Beruna, their faces radiant in the glow of the flames, their eyes alight. He couldn’t see Susan anywhere.
Caspian glanced at Edmund who was watching Peter and Lucy whirl around each other, laughing when a group of dwarves had to dive out of the way of Lucy’s flying skirts. It occurred to him that he had not seen Edmund laugh before tonight.
“You do not dance?” Caspian said. Edmund turned to him, the smile still playing around his lips.
“Sometimes.”
“But not tonight.”
“Not tonight.”
Despite the soothing effects of the wine, Caspian found he could not quite sit still. If his hand was not tapping against the side of his cup, his foot was twitching or his fingers were drumming against the ground. After several minutes of this, Edmund leaned over and placed his hand over Caspian’s. The fingers stopped moving instantly; Caspian’s whole arm felt locked in place.
“You know, that’s really quite annoying.”
“Sorry. I just-” Caspian pulled his hand away in frustration. How could he begin to explain it?
“Don’t know what to do with yourself?”
“That’s a good way of putting it. It was not like this after we attacked the castle.”
“Well, we lost then.” Caspian winced at Edmund’s matter-of-fact tone but Edmund paid no attention. “And there was the battle to prepare for. You had something to do with all the energy. Now it’s over and you’re still, you know.” He waved a hand at Caspian’s foot, which had started twitching again.
“I feel like I could just run and run. Is it always like this?”
“Yes. It’s alright though, once you figure out how to deal with it. Good, even. Peter’s like you, can’t sit still. He’ll dance until he falls down. Lucy’s the same, although to be honest she doesn’t need a battle as an excuse to dance all night. Susan has her own way of coping.” Edmund grimaced and Caspian refrained from asking what her way was. It wasn’t hard to work out: Bacchus was nowhere in sight either.
“What about you? I mean, how do you deal with it?”
“It depends. Sometimes I dance with the others. Sometimes I prefer to be quiet.”
“And you are not dancing tonight,” Caspian said quietly.
A slow smile spread across Edmund’s face. “No, I’m not.” Caspian could not help the grin he gave in return.
“Aren’t you two dancing?” Susan’s voice made them both jump.
“Does it look like we’re dancing?” Edmund said.
“No. What are you doing?”
“Just talking. Caspian’s feeling a little fidgety after the battle.”
“Ah,” Susan said with understanding, sitting down and arranging her skirts around her. She looked a lot more relaxed than Caspian had seen her thus far, and there was a faint flush to her cheeks. On the other hand, Caspian was quite certain Edmund was considerably more tense than he had been.
“I remember we used to tell stories after battle,” Susan said wistfully. “It was wonderful, everyone sitting by the fire, talking and laughing. Do you remember, Ed, the stories Mr Beaver used to tell? And the squirrels who lived up by Lantern Waste?” Edmund nodded with a smile that quickly turned into a frown as a shadow passed over Susan’s face.
“Caspian, tell us some Telmarine stories,” Edmund said, and Susan brightened at the change of subject.
“Oh, yes. I love Narnian stories but your people must have some of your own.”
Feeling awkward as they both looked at him expectantly, Caspian began the story of how his people had left Telmar looking for a better life. It occurred to him belatedly that this was perhaps not the best story to tell, but his audience didn’t seem to mind. His confidence grew as he spoke the words that every Telmarine is taught from childhood, though he did some judicious editing as he went along. He did not think Edmund and Susan’s tolerance would stretch to hearing about the first Caspian’s glorious victory over the Narnian vermin. He didn’t really want to hear about it himself.
His audience had grown by the time he finished and he suddenly felt self-conscious again. He had not expected the Narnians to be so curious about Telmarine history. He tried to think of a story that did not involve the massacre of innocent Talking Beasts or the indiscriminate felling of trees but, although he knew there were many, he couldn’t come up with a single one. So he asked Edmund and Susan to share stories from their world instead.
The group grew and shrank as the night wore on and people took a break from the dancing, joining them for a story or two before returning to the party. Trufflehunter told how Narnia came into being, then Lucy told the story (which she must have told a thousand times but which she told again happily) of how she first came into Narnia. Peter told them about the city of Troy, which was besieged for years and years for the love of a woman. Edmund grumbled about how Susan had caused more trouble than a dozen Helens when they had ruled and everyone laughed as she swatted his arm and glared at him, too merry and full of drink to do anything else. Doctor Cornelius told the story of the great sorcerer of the Lone Islands who had terrorised all the land and how his defeat had gifted the islands to Narnia forever.
Eventually everyone drifted away, to their own groups or back to the dancing, until just Edmund and Caspian remained. The thrumming in Caspian’s blood that had receded into the background had returned, and he felt more attuned to the world than ever before. The grass was softer and fresher, the stars brighter, the wind in the trees sweeter, the smoke from the fire more pungent. His hand, resting on the ground between them, felt hot all along the side where it touched Edmund’s. A shiver ran through him as a cool breeze ruffled Edmund’s hair, making it flutter against the back of his neck.
“Are you alright?” Edmund asked, dropping back onto the grass and propping himself up on his side with his elbow. The movement took his hand away from Caspian’s and the space between them suddenly felt a lot bigger. Caspian lay down beside him, mirroring his posture.
“I’m fine. I am just- I don‘t know. Thinking.”
“Worried about the future?”
“Yes,” Caspian said, because he didn’t want to say he had been thinking about Edmund’s hair. It was not really a lie; he was worried about the future. “I have been so focussed on defeating my uncle and freeing Narnia and trying to stay alive, I did not really think beyond that. And now I’m here and there’s so much to do. Where do I even start?” It was not a rhetorical question but Edmund apparently thought it was. At any rate, he did not offer any suggestions as to what Caspian should do next. “I am a traitor to my own people and many of them will want my head for it. The Narnians will want their land back; the Telmarines won’t want to give it up. How am I supposed to keep everybody happy?”
“What do you want?”
“I want to sleep for about a week.”
Edmund laughed. “Sorry. You’re the king now, or as good as. Sleeping doesn’t figure largely in your future.” He brushed something from Caspian’s shoulder, making his hair tickle his cheek. His hand remained a moment before falling away. “What else do you want?”
What did he want? He wanted to not have to deal with the awful mess that lay before him. He wanted to not have to rebuild a kingdom and try to reconcile two peoples who had hated and feared each other for centuries. He wanted to find Destrier and ride until he couldn’t ride any more. He wanted to run. He wanted Peter to stop treating him like an idiot. He wanted to possess just a fraction of Susan’s composure. He wanted to know something of the abandon Lucy felt as she danced.
He wanted to lie here in the firelight with Edmund and share stories.
“I want…” he began. Edmund’s eyes were warm and glittering, and the noise around them seemed very far away.
Edmund’s smile was knowing as he leaned forward and, in the half-light, where anyone could see them if they chose to look, brushed his lips across Caspian’s; the barest whisper of a touch. “What do you want?”
Caspian caught his breath, and in that single terrifying moment he knew. He wanted this. He wanted Edmund’s lips moving on his, the pressure gradually increasing, oh so slowly. He wanted his own eyelids flickering shut and his lips responding tentatively to Edmund’s kiss. He wanted Edmund’s hand brushing gently up his neck and across his jaw before threading through his hair. He wanted Edmund’s tongue sweeping against his lips, causing them to part with a gasp. He wanted his hand on Edmund’s cheek, the skin there smooth and warm. He wanted the sharp thrill that ran through him when Edmund bit gently on his lower lip. He wanted the low moan that came from deep in Edmund’s throat when he reciprocated. He wanted the soft breath that tickled his cheek as Edmund pulled away from him.
They lay there, still propped on their elbows, foreheads resting together. Edmund’s hand was still in his hair, Caspian’s own hand settling against Edmund’s collarbone just where the pale skin met the deep blue of his tunic. Edmund’s eyes were still closed; Caspian would not have looked away for the world. Caspian still wanted. He wanted to take Edmund’s face between his hands and kiss him until they were both light-headed. He wanted his hands to trace the line of Edmund’s throat down below his collar and keep going until they had mapped every inch of his skin. He wanted Edmund writhing and arching beneath him. He wanted Edmund over him; face flushed, lips parted. He wanted Edmund’s skin against his own, sweat-slick and searing. He wanted Edmund’s breath ragged in his ear.
That was unlikely to happen here though. A quick kiss in the half-dark was one thing, tearing Edmund’s clothes off in full view of everyone was quite another. But this was not some pretty young sister of a visiting dignitary or a cousin of one of the minor lords. This was something else entirely. This was Edmund, and Caspian did not know where to go from here.
Edmund opened his eyes and pulled his head back slightly, his hand dropping from Caspian’s hair and coming to rest against the side of his neck. Caspian could feel his own pulse beating wildly against Edmund’s fingers. They were still so close that when Edmund spoke, Caspian could feel his words dance across his skin. His voice was strained. “There used to be a hidden glade about half a mile from here. Do-”
“Ed! Caspian! Come and dance with me!”
At the sound of Lucy’s voice, Caspian pulled away from Edmund as though he were on fire. Edmund’s reaction was more leisurely, making no move away from Caspian, but he still lost little time in taking his hand from neck. Caspian had never been so displeased to see someone he liked.
“Not now, Lu,” Edmund said as she joined them. His voice became stronger with every word. “We’re talking.”
“You can talk any time. Tonight is for dancing.”
“Not for us it’s not. And Caspian’s a terrible dancer, it’s not fair to force him.”
“Hey,” Caspian said as Lucy laughed. “I am not that bad.” His own voice was not nearly as controlled as Edmund’s.
“Of course you’re not,” Lucy said. “Edmund just thinks he’s being funny. But I won’t make you if you really don’t want to.” She caught the hands of a passing dryad and was gone in a trice.
Silence reigned as they watched the dancers once more. Caspian tried to follow the intricate movements of their feet but his eyes could not keep up. When he turned to look at Edmund, he found that Edmund was studying him. A long moment passed in which Caspian’s gaze flicked repeatedly from Edmund’s mouth to his eyes and back again while Edmund scrutinised him. Then, without a word, he grasped Caspian’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Edmund smiled, his eyes full of promise, and then turned and led him away from the fire.
As soon as they were out of sight of the crowd, Edmund broke into a run. Caspian laughed, tightened his grip on Edmund’s hand, and together they ran and ran.