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Maybe the problem is Edmund doesn’t know if he’s allowed this.
Narnia is a lot more lenient when it comes to same-sex couples, couples of any sort really. Edmund has see harems and poly groups and inter-species dating that has him rather confused of the connotations but truly unable to think about it without feeling a little nauseous.
After he saw a bear give a kiss to a badger, he decided he preferred when he didn’t think about what lovers do in their own, private time.
Just like how Edmund likes to keep his lovers.
Back when Edmund was a King under Peter, whose love affairs would be thrown out into the open, scrutinised and discussed, Edmund’s handful of choices were kept quiet.
Even from his siblings.
Especially from his siblings.
He’s never been big on public displays of affection, nor has he felt the need to parade his heart on his sleeve like the rest of his siblings.
He is known as the Cold One for a reason. That name wasn’t just a reference to the White Witch.
Unlike his siblings, who are loud and bright and full of life, Edmund tends to work better in the darkness than the light. He is the snake in the grass, the silver-tongue, the dark-haired boy hidden in Peter’s golden glow.
Even still, he was- is a King. He knows he’s somewhat attractive and unlike his brother and sister - Susan can get into just as much trouble with suitors as their dear brother - Edmund knows when someone is simply after the title rather than him.
He’s dated a handful of good people, the relationship lasting more than a night - or in Peter’s famous case, three hours.
Edmund knows that he likes men as much as he likes women, maybe more so. He knows he has a preference for the witty ones, the ones that smirk and laugh at Edmund’s comments rather than cringe. He also knows that he likes those that are open and joyous and light.
He, himself, is a dark person. No matter what he’s told, he’ll always believe himself tainted from the White Witch and his betrayal. He is snide and distant and harsh and venomous when he chooses to be.
Those traits are only amplified when someone hurts his family.
He still remembers when Lucy got lost and taken by a small tribe bordering the edge of the forest.
Edmund had been the sane one, the calculated one as Peter hissed and spat and flew into a blind rage, as Susan lost all warmth from her eyes and demanded their sister returned safely or else a bloodbath would follow.
Edmund was calm as he snuck into the tribe’s ranks - unlike his golden siblings, Edmund is looked over, underestimated and that is always more of a help than a hindrance in times like these - until he saw Lucy. She had been slapped, her eyes red from trying not to cry and Edmund doesn’t like to admit that he thanked the White Witch then for turning his heart to ice.
He slaughtered them with a smile and took Lucy home, letting the others clean up his mess.
“You scared me, Ed,” Lucy had said, voice small. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared of you as I was then.”
“I’m sorry,” Edmund had replied, truly honest and guilty until she hugged him so tight his ribs protested greatly.
“Thank you,” she had said before crying. “Thank you for saving me.”
So if Edmund has to be a monster, be the lurking shadow there to defend his family, he will do so with ease.
That’s why he always works better with happy people.
Where as he is darkness, they are sunlight.
Rhydian had been like that. They’d only had each other for a year - serving under the High King was supposed to be a learning curve for a Lord’s son who preferred to sleep than work - but Edmund doesn’t think he had ever laughed so hard than with that man.
Fluffy, brown hair with streaks of gold and eyes as blue as the ocean, Rhydian had shown the court a softer side to Edmund. Under his joy, Edmund flourished.
They both knew it would end but Edmund had cherished every moment, every embrace, every kiss shared with that man.
It was one of the reasons returning to England had been so hard.
People like him were ridiculed, imprisoned, killed. Those thoughts of that man could’ve left Edmund dead if he ever expressed them.
He never wanted to return to England yet he did.
Now, though, Edmund is back in Narnia and standing in the chambers of King Caspian and he’s honestly wondering if this is a cosmic joke. Maybe this is his punishment for the betrayal of his family.
Because Caspian is witty and bright and beautiful. So, so beautiful.
Especially when he’s discussing Narnian politics while switching shirts after the other became drenched in salt water from the sea.
Edmund averts his gaze, pretending to tip his chin back and enjoy the sun on his face - that’s how he’ll explain the blush to his checks, he plots - and hates that he would’ve preferred Caspian dripping with that too-tight, white shirt if it meant he didn’t have to awkwardly stand here. Because he wants to reach out and touch. Gods above does he want to see if Caspian’s skin is as warm as it looks.
But no.
Edmund doesn’t know if he’s allowed this. If he’s allowed Caspian.
Sure, they’ve traded looks and quick touches but nothing concrete to suggest that Caspian wants Edmund as much as Edmund wants Caspian.
And gods, does he want him.
He didn’t even realise how much until he was being pulled from the water, Eustace complaining in the background while Lucy elbowed him in the ribs because he was gawking at Caspian’s obvious muscles through that damned shirt.
Which he is no longer wearing, thank Aslan.
No. He’s now wearing no shirt.
Edmund ends up digging his fingernails into his palms, shutting his eyes.
“Ed?” Caspian calls and Edmund straightens immediately, eyes snapping open. “Are you alright?”
His accent is more Narnian now, less that exotic twist to his words. Yet Edmund’s name still sounds sinful when spoken from those lips.
“Yes?” Edmund chokes out. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Today has just been a lot.”
“Would you like to sleep early?” Caspian asks and his voice is so concerned, so warm.
Edmund is not going to kiss him. He’s not. He doesn’t even know if Caspian likes men, let alone a former traitor, let alone Edmund.
“Thank you for the offer but I’m not tired,” he replies, looking into those dark eyes. Lighter than Edmund’s black, but dark brown like the wood of a tree trunk. “Simply restless. I’ve missed Narnia, I don’t believe I could sleep if I tried.”
“Restless?” Caspian asks with a single eyebrow raise and heat burns through Edmund’s veins at the smirk twitching on Caspian’s lips. “Is there anything I can do to help with that, my King?”
Edmund swallows. His mantra of not kissing Caspian echoes over and over and over-
“We could spar, I suppose,” Edmund suggests because if he moves now, neither one of them will be leaving this chamber and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed that.
He is King Edmund here. Well, he’s actually High King Edmund now but King Caspian outranks him on this ship and he doesn’t know.
Edmund doesn’t like not knowing.
Caspian’s face falls slightly but he lights up once again so Edmund can’t quite understand what’s on his mind. Did he say something wrong? He doesn’t think so as he rewinds the conversation in his mind.
“Let the best King win,” Caspian says, opening the door to his chambers, the strange mood created instantly evaporating as the sound of the crew come back into focus.
Edmund grins back, following after him and doesn’t realise what’s happened.
(There is a moment when their blades collide, when they’re breathing each other’s air, faces millimetres apart, separated only by metal on metal.
Edmund darts his eyes down to plush lips and watches as Caspian’s tongue darts out to wet them.
Their blades fall down by their sides and Caspian grabs the back of his neck, fingers brushing his hair as he forces their foreheads together.
Edmund can’t pull his gaze away from his lips.
“Still battle ready, Your Majesty!” Reepicheep cheers and Edmund pulls away to see Eustace’s eyes blown wide before he frowns at him.
“Are all Narnian’s so close?” He mutters to himself and Edmund keeps the smile on his face even as the barrier to his mind, his heart rise.
“Once I familiarise myself with your fighting style, I’ll beat you,” Caspian says and Edmund simply rolls his eyes, sheathes his sword.
“Give it thirty years, Cas,” he says, pats his shoulder and accepts the side-hug from Lucy.
He pretends he’s still not thinking of Caspian’s lips.)
He doesn’t realise what happened in Caspian’s chambers for a while, not until a week passes and he feels as if he truly is adrift.
Because Caspian changes ever so slightly.
It’s not a big difference, Edmund would clock that immediately. It’s a subtle one, a shift from calm water to minor ripples in the waves.
Caspian starts touching him more. A hand on his shoulder, a hand on the back of his neck, a hand on his hip to move him, a brush of fingers across his waist, a face inches from his with a hand braced on his chest as the ship shifts.
Every time, it throws Edmund off balance. He’s drowning in those dark eyes, entranced by them and every time it happens, the longer it takes for Edmund to snap out of his vivid pining for Caspian’s lips.
Not only does he touch him more, the nicknames stay. He uses ‘Ed’ more and more and slips in a couple of ‘my King’ that leaves Edmund breathless. His name sounds down right holy coming from Caspian’s mouth.
With the touching and the nicknames, Edmund already feels a little lost.
What truly throws him is how Caspian starts to look to him whenever someone asks for His Royal Highness’ opinion.
If someone approaches Caspian, Caspian will find a way to involve Edmund, almost deferring to him.
The power rush leaves Edmund dizzy and paired with his title slipping from Caspian’s mouth and his warm hand on his shoulder, Edmund doesn’t know which way is up anymore.
It’s why he retreats, on day something, to the food locker. He sits on damp wood and takes a thousand deep breaths to feel more centred.
It’s how Reepicheep finds him, arms curled around his knees, forehead resting there as he struggles to breathe.
“King Edmund,” the mouse says in that posh tone. “Is everything quite alright? Is it that annoying child? Because, if so, I will fix that problem very quickly.”
“No, it’s not Eustace,” Edmund says, not even bothering to look up.
Normally he would jump to his feet, plaster on a fake face and move on. No one would know or decide to question him further.
But Edmund is tired, strung-out and Reepicheep is practically a part of his inner circle. He will not judge Edmund like a citizen would for he sees the boy behind the King.
“Would you like me to get your sister?” Reepicheep offers and Edmund shakes his head as much as he can with his forehead pressed tightly against his knees.
“I’m alright,” he replies and Reepicheep huffs a snort.
“That is a lie, Your Majesty, but I will not push if you do not wish me to.”
It’s an out, if Edmund wants one. If he says so, Reepicheep will leave and he will not mention this ever again. Edmund will collect himself and return back to the deck as if nothing is wrong.
Instead, he swallows and finally looks up, resting his chin on his knees as he studies the mouse before him. There’s no judgment on his small face, just concern.
So Edmund decides to ask, rather bluntly, “has Caspian taken any confidants?”
Reepicheep shifts on his feet and pauses to think. “If you’re asking if His Majesty is currently wedded or engaged, no, nor do I recall any possible sightings or rumours of a confidant.”
“But it’s been three years,” Edmund replies and Reepicheep shrugs.
“Narnia is still settling and with this current problem, there has not been a need for the young King to find a spouse.”
So Caspian is currently alone on the throne and very single. Single to the point that there aren’t even any rumours circulating of him.
Even Edmund didn’t have that luxury.
And that’s when he realises what Reepicheep said. Spouse. Not wife. A gender neutral term.
His eyes meet Reepicheep’s and there is still no judgement in the mouse’s eyes. There’s a lingering of understanding there and Edmund wills the flush creeping up his neck to leave.
He’s the Cold One, not Peter, who expresses every emotion with no hesitation.
He’s not normally this easy to read.
“May I speak openly, Your Majesty?” Reepicheep says and Edmund nods, because he’s always preferred honesty, even if the truth can be more brutal than the pretty lies he can speak.
“Of course.”
“Talk to him,” Reepicheep breathes. “I cannot help when I don’t know the full extent to what is going on but, and I say this with the greatest respect, I don’t think you know yourself. So talk to him, that’s the only way both of you will be on the same page, Your Majesty.”
Edmund takes a moment to digest this before he smiles. “Thank you. Truly.”
Reepicheep bows at the waist. “It’s always an honour to assist my King.”
He opens his mouth to continue when there’s a thud above them and then loud whining. Edmund sighs at the familiar complaining of Eustace.
“Are you sure I cannot throw him overboard?” Reepicheep asks as Edmund finally stands, shaking out the pins and needles in his legs.
“As much as I would love to agree,” Edmund replies, “he is unfortunately my cousin.”
Edmund follows Reepicheep back up to the deck and starts to plan.
(“Are you alright?” Caspian asks when they appear on the deck, in that same concerned tone as he did when they stood in his chambers. “You look pale. I didn’t know you had seasickness.”
“Oh no, Your Majesty,” Reepicheep answers for Edmund. “High King Edmund was simply trying to distance himself from that insufferable-“
“Who’s still my cousin,” Edmund mutters with a grin.
“-little boy,” Reepicheep finishes and then bows to Edmund. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I speak only the truth.”
“No need to apologise when it’s true,” Edmund says and the concern melts from Caspian’s face, replaced with humour. He meets those dark eyes and smiles, warmly, openly. “Reepicheep was offering his talents to me if I wished to cash them in.”
It isn’t a whole lie, a half-truth: a very important and useful skill he gained when negotiating under Peter’s rule.
Caspian smiles back, as radiant as the sun, warming the ice of Edmund’s heart. “Well, as much as I can’t congratulate you on threatening to drown a member of my crew, I am glad you’re alright.”
It’s only later, in the safety of solitude, that he yearns to always be in the blinding light of that smile.)
Edmund has a plan. He does. He simply doesn’t follow through.
Not when Caspian continues to touch him and speak to him. Not when Edmund doesn’t want to lose this.
The only touch he gets back in England is that of Lucy’s hugs. That is all. Peter is gone and Susan is gone and Eustace is annoying so he only has Lucy.
The boys at the private school don’t play-fight with him ever since one made a comment about how strange he was and he didn’t stop hitting him until his knuckles were red with his blood. He is avoided there, the shadow once again.
And this touch isn’t painful. This isn’t the frantic grabbing after a battle, checking for injuries. This isn’t harsh like the politicians who wish for a King in their pocket.
This is warm and solid and a touch just to touch.
Edmund thrives under it, skin set alight by a simple brush of fingers and he can’t stop leaning into it, begging with his eyes for more.
He wants that touch in his hair, on his check, cupping his neck, gripping his waist and hips.
He wants to hear his name from those sinful lips but in Caspian’s bed, dark hair on soft pillows, eyes rolling back.
Those thoughts plague Edmund and yet he doesn’t follow through.
He doesn’t lean into Caspian, doesn’t brush his own fingers through his fluffy hair, doesn’t press his lips to tanned skin, or grip those dammed white shirts between his hands. He simply smiles and responds with his own commentary and tries to not make it obvious with how badly he wants Caspian.
Even if Reepicheep watches him, both with amusement and concern.
Everything is going well - as well as pining after a King can go - until Lucy corners him.
“If you don’t kiss him, I’m going to throw you overboard,” she says with that sweet, innocent smile and he immediately narrows his eyes at her, quickly checking that no one is around them to overhear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies and she sighs, deeply.
“Ed, I don’t pretend to know what is going on inside that thick skull of yours, but even I can see something is happening between you and Caspian.” She states it all calmly, evenly, blocking his exits because she knows him as well as he knows her. “So either do something about that stupid kicked puppy look on your face or I shall be forced to do something equally stupid.”
“Nothing is happening between us,” he snaps and she rolls her eyes.
“Exactly. That’s the point.” She jabs a finger at his chest. “Do something.”
“Lucy,” he hisses and she jabs her finger again.
“What? Are you going to say I don’t understand? Well, you’re right. I don’t. But I do know this look you have for him and I know what this look means.”
“Lucy,” he repeats. “Leave it.”
“I didn’t realise High King Edmund the Just was a coward,” she replies, going for the jugular in the way only siblings can.
He straightens, eyes losing their fire and she mirrors him, dropping her hand back to her side. They stare at one another, evaluating.
“I am not a coward,” he says, quietly, a little hurt.
She nods. “You’re right, you’re not. I’m sorry for saying that but this is becoming quite annoying. He either shares the same feelings - which is obvious that he does, I don’t know how you of all people haven’t realised that - or he doesn’t. In which case, you can finally move on.”
He pauses, studying her. She doesn’t back down, meeting his eyes with determination, with no fear.
They’re siblings, after all, and if anyone can put them in their place, it’s each other. And unlike the politicians Edmund is used to meeting, his intense stare isn’t so intense when they’ve lived together since birth.
“I don’t see it,” he says, dropping his gaze. “That’s why I have not acted. To me, I don’t see any feelings there.”
Lucy looks at him and the tension eases from her shoulders. She blows brown strands from her face and says, “Ed, have you seen him touch anyone else on his ship? Apart from when he spars with his crew?”
Edmund opens his mouth, ready to list when Caspian grabs the other crew members’ shoulders. Yet no instance comes to mind. Apart from when he nudges the Helmsman to take over with steering, Caspian doesn’t grab shoulders or necks.
“Exactly,” Lucy says, seeing it written across his face. He’s only this open with family. “Another question for you. Who else has been in his chambers?”
Edmund doesn’t respond because he can’t. If Caspian wants to show the crew maps or discuss something in particular, he does it in another chamber, never his own.
Which means Edmund is the only one who has entered his chamber, his bedroom.
It also means Edmund was trusted enough to be allowed in, allowed to see King Caspian change shirts, allowed where no one else has been permitted to go.
“Oh.” He replies, lowly, a little brokenly and she snorts.
“Ed, you’re both the smartest and stupidest person I know.”
He rolls his eyes, grabs her to mess up her hair as she bats his hand away. “Thank you, dear sister. I’ll remember this the next time you’re doing something extremely stupid.”
She hits him. “You’re being mean. Good, that means you’re already getting back to normal.”
“You know what?” He says and then lunges for her. “You’re going in the sea!”
“Ed! Don’t you dare!”
His lips pull into a smirk and suddenly the cornered becomes the hunter. She spins, racing up the wooden stairs as he follows, all while she screeches.
Eustace lifts his head from his journal as Lucy jumps past him, trying to climb. Reepicheep laughs as Edmund follows, taunting her as they end up near the steering wheel.
“The ocean is calling you, Luce,” Edmund grins and she glares at him.
“I will- I will…” Lucy trails off and then grins triumphantly. “I will cry.”
Edmund’s eyes widen. “I can no longer hear the sea calling you.”
She smiles at him. “Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.”
Edmund goes to say more when a familiar, warm voice says, “please don’t throw Queen Lucy overboard, I will have to dramatically dive off to save her.”
Edmund turns and Caspian is leaning against the edge of the ship, arms crossed and fluffy, brown hair blowing in the breeze. Edmund is breathless at the sight of him, so relaxed and confident, a true King of Narnia, worthy of his title.
Edmund wants to jest back, joke about throwing Lucy over. He knows Lucy will follow along because even though she may be the one pushing him to act on his thoughts and desires, she will always be his sister first.
And years of holding a Royal court have proven that somethings are not to be displayed in public.
Susan and that one suitor from that mountainous community. Peter and the few times he couldn’t hold his temper during a meeting. They will always be siblings first, Kings and Queens later.
If he doesn’t wish to do this now, she will respect his decision.
But Edmund wants.
He wants too much.
So instead of his usual cold facade, he goes for his true self. No one is up here but them - even if he can spot Reepicheep lingering from afar, watching the interaction - and so he relaxes his shoulders, smooths his brow and smiles at Caspian, a little hesitantly, a little shyly.
“Are you busy?” Edmund asks and Lucy starts to creep away.
Caspian raises an eyebrow, eyes widening as he takes in the now open Edmund. “Not right now, no.”
“Will you be busy?” Edmund asks and Lucy slowly disappears down the stairs.
Caspian’s eyebrow joins the other, high on his head. “Unless we are attacked or we spot land, also no.”
“Good,” Edmund says, steps closer. Once, twice. Caspian stands straighter as he watches Edmund until there’s a foot between them. Caspian’s eyes are blown wide and he’s dropped his arms to his sides.
He doesn’t reach for him, though.
So Edmund reaches for him.
A brush of his fingers on a tanned hand. Caspian freezes, eyes widening and Edmund keeps the distance between them, knowing the crew is just below and trails his fingers up a sharp wrist, up a slender but muscled arm, past a strong shoulder to the side of his neck.
He adds more pressure, gets to feel that warm skin, feel a rapidly increasing pulse - full of life, full of Caspian’s life - beneath his hand.
“Can we talk?” He asks, quietly and Caspian’s hand reaches up, pulls at Edmund’s wrist and he freezes.
Is this it? Is this rejection?
He hopes if Caspian is disgusted with him, that he keeps Lucy on the ship. She deserves to be looked after.
Edmund is the problem here.
He always is. He’s the traitor, the snake, the Cold One-
Caspian places Edmund’s hand on his tanned cheek, tilts his head into it like a cat. Edmund’s heart stutters in his chest.
“Of course,” Caspian replies, voice so soft and fond.
He takes the hand he’s holding against his face and pulls him from the deck, down more stairs into the lower deck and through the door to his chambers.
The door shuts behind them and Caspian doesn’t drop his hand. He simply turns to face him, small smile on his lips.
“Ed,” he says, and Edmund has to shut his eyes at the sound of his name in that sinful tone, “what do you want to talk about?”
So much, he wants to say. He wants to ask boundaries and explain his past and ask stupid things like his favourite colour - green, like the forests surrounding Telmarine - and his favourite dessert - chocolate pudding.
But Edmund feels like he already knows Caspian, like he’s known him for years.
He’s there, nestled in Edmund’s bones, hidden in his marrow, close to the beating of his heart. He’s warm and golden and everything.
So he opens his eyes, meets that dark gaze and does what he’s been dying to do this entire time.
Because he’s allowed this.
He realises that now.
He steps closer until their chests are touching, rises on his toes - he is smaller than Caspian but he’s smaller than most men, it’s part of his charm, part of being underestimated - and connects his lips to Caspian’s.
They’re soft, which is surprising considering the salty air but Edmund fears for a second it’s too much for Caspian has stilled.
Yet when Edmund goes to retreat, ready to pull on that cold facade, Caspian chases him, pushing back until their lips meet again, this time with force. He raises his free hand - the one not gripping Caspian’s - and runs it through fluffy, brown hair.
It’s more than he imagined and Caspian groans into his mouth when he grabs a fistful and tugs gently, fingernails scratching his scalp. In retaliation, Caspian pushes him back into the wall, hands - one detaching from his - gripping his waist, his hips.
Edmund can’t stop the gasp as his back hits the wood, the way his head tilts up to keep those lips against his.
He bites playfully and gets to hear Caspian moan into his mouth. He licks at his lips, at his tongue, at the roof is his mouth and realises that while he’s definitely the more experienced one - he is thirty years older than he looks - Caspian is skilled. He’s obviously not a beginner.
Only when they pull apart, lips bruised and shining, panting into each other’s mouths, that Caspian chuckles, dropping his head to Edmund’s neck. He plants a few kisses there and Edmund gladly bares his throat.
“Do you know,” Caspian pants against his skin, “how long I’ve waited to do that?”
Edmund chuckles, tugging at Caspian’s hair once again to hear that groan. “I think I’ve been waiting longer. I’m going to be forever in Lucy’s debt. And Reepicheep’s.”
Caspian pulls away from his neck and grins down at him, cheeks flushed and dark eyes nearly black. “We’ll both owe them, my King.”
Edmund groans, eyes shutting and head banging back against the wood. “Every time you say that to me, Cas-“
Caspian hums, taking the opportunity presented to him by the teeth, literally, as he bites at Edmund’s neck. He kisses and sucks and Edmund grips his hair tighter, his other hand gripping his back.
“You think that’s bad?” Caspian whispers into his ear, Telmarine accent honeying his words, leaving Edmund’s knees to buckle. Caspian doesn’t let him fall. He steps closer, until they’re pressed against each other from leg to chest. “Every time you look at me with those dark eyes, every time you let me command this ship-“
“It is your ship,” Edmund replies, shakily, moaning when Caspian bites at a particularly sensitive spot. He’s not going to be able to cover this up and he thinks, as Caspian doesn’t stop, that him being covered in hickies is the point.
He can’t find it in himself to be angry.
Sure, it was an agreed part of his old lovers that they could mark him, just not obvious areas for the public to see. But this is Caspian, this seems like more.
And Edmund doesn’t care.
So long as he has Caspian.
This is allowed.
“You’re High King,” Caspian reminds him. “You outrank me and yet you hand that power over easily. It’s intoxicating. I’ve wanted you since you shouted for King Peter to cut my uncle down.”
Edmund nearly loses it at that alone.
Caspian has seen all sides of him: the open version his siblings see, the battle-hardened warrior, King Edmund the Just, and the dark, splintered version of himself, the snake, the silver-tongue, the Cold One.
Caspian has seen it all and he wants Edmund as much as Edmund wants Caspian.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I want you,” Edmund admits, somewhat shocked by his own honesty.
Caspian pulls back and smirks at him, dark eyes warm.
“Thank Aslan,” he replies, leaning in for a quick peck. “Because I want you so badly it hurts.”
Edmund grins at him, drowning in his eyes, ice heart warmed by his grin.
With a skilled shift, Caspian is the one pressed against the wooden wall and Edmund is pressing close.
It’s not love, not yet.
But this isn’t just lust either.
It’s more. It’s bright.
And when Edmund connects their lips again, he finds he doesn’t mind what they label themselves as. So long as he gets to have this, so long as he gets to keep this, he doesn’t care.
(“Ten coins that they won’t appear until dinner,” Reepicheep mutters and Lucy smirks.
“Twenty that they don’t appear until breakfast.”
She knows her brother, knows his past lovers.
Edmund loves openly, strongly, fiercely. Once committed, he does not easily let go. And if she’s calculated the looks Caspian has been giving Edmund behind his back correctly - she has - then she knows he’s much the same.
She guesses Narnia will flourish under two Kings.
Eustace slowly appears at her side, shuffling on his feet. “Where is Edmund?” He asks, in that annoying, boyish tone.
“With Caspian,” she answers, honestly. He opens his mouth but she throws a hand up to stop him. “I suggest you word whatever you’re about to say very carefully. As both of the Kings have retired for the night, I am the Queen of this ship and if you say something horrid or cruel, I will have you thrown overboard.”
She says it with all of Peter’s authority, all of Susan’s strength, all of Edmund’s coldness. Eustace’s eyes widen and he takes a step back, mouth snapping closed.
Reepicheep hops to her shoulder, hand on his sword. “What were you about to say, boy?”
He says it loud enough for a few of the other crew members to look over and while Lucy probably won’t follow through on her threat - it truly depends on what he might say; she’s never liked when someone said something in her court without her siblings present to defend themselves - she is confident that the crew back her and not her cousin before her. They will defend her, protect her and she’s missed this, missed Narnia’s loyalty.
“I- nothing.” Eustace hisses, face flushing. He ducks away and Lucy grins.
“We support our Kings,” Reepicheep says to her, quietly but no less honest. “If anyone does say anything, enough of us will come to their defence.”
“Thank you,” she replies. “You’re a good friend, Reep.”
Reepicheep sniffles and bows at the waist. “It’s an honour to be considered your friend, Your Majesty.”
Lucy grins. “Please, call me Lucy. That way, when I win our bet, victory will taste so much sweeter.”
Reepicheep laughs and when Edmund and Caspian don’t return for dinner, she grins victoriously as he hands over the coins.)
Standing on the sandbank, Aslan offers them a way to go back to England.
Reepicheep has declined visiting his family in Aslan’s country and Caspian has also retreated from the high waves. The portal is before them and Edmund swallows at the sight of it.
He could go.
He could go and see Susan and Peter.
But he turns to look at Caspian, who’s watching calmly, as if he’s detaching himself from the situation. He knows Edmund’s siblings are his priority.
His neck is still black and blue from his various nights and mornings with Caspian but they will fade once in England. There is no one there who will replace them, no one who he wishes to.
“I’m staying,” he says, firmly to Aslan, stepping back so that his arm is brushing Caspian’s. “I don’t want to go back to England. Narnia is my home. I’ve already abandoned Her too many times. Not again.”
Aslan studies him, big head tilting as his mane rustles in the wind. “If you do not return now, you may never return.”
“Then I will never return.” Edmund says, sharply before realising Lucy is standing right there. His eyes widen and he says, “Luce-“
“No,” she says, smiling at him. “I- I understand. And I was actually going to say the same thing. I will miss Peter and Susan but I want to stay here. This is my home.”
Aslan smiles at her, fondly. He’s always had a soft spot for Lucy. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says, stepping to stand beside Edmund, fingers linking with his. “There is no where I’d rather be.”
They all turn to Eustace as Aslan says, “don’t fear, Narnia will need you some time in the future. You will be able to return.”
Eustace smiles down at Reepicheep and then at Edmund and Lucy. “Would you like me to tell Peter and Susan anything?”
“They should understand if you tell them we’ve stayed,” Lucy says and Eustace nods, turns to walk when Edmund opens his mouth, hand not occupied by Lucy’s, reaching for Caspian’s.
Warm fingers interlock with his own.
“Tell them I’m happy,” he calls with a grin. “Tell them I’ve never been happier.”
Eustace turns slightly and nods. He’s grown while here, more of a man than a boy, more mature and confident than he left. It makes Edmund smile wider to see his cousin grow into his skin.
Eustace steps through the portal and they all watch it close.
Lucy squeezes Edmund’s hand, wiping a tear before leaning down to pick up Reepicheep. They start to head back to the boat waiting for them.
Edmund goes to follow but Caspian stops him. He spins him back, hands gripping the side of his face.
“‘Never been happier’, huh?” He breathes and Edmund rolls his eyes, hands digging into his waist.
“With you?” He says. “With my sister and a court built on your ruling? It’s true.”
Caspian’s eyes water as he leans down, kissing Edmund deeply, passionately, who accepts the love they’ve yet to name and returns it easily.
He only pulls away when he hears paws in sand.
“Aslan!” He calls, and smiles when the lion pauses to look at him. “I don’t suppose you’d come back in a year to officiate something for me, would you?”
Caspian blushes as Lucy and Reepicheep cheer. Aslan seems to pause and then grin at him, showing off large, white canines.
He pats the sand and it ripples until a crystal seashell appears next to Edmund’s boot. “Call my name and I shall appear.” He pauses again before saying, “I’m proud to see the man you’ve become, Edmund. Narnia shall truly flourish with two Kings and a Queen.”
It’s a blessing if Edmund’s ever heard one and he breaks his hold of Caspian to grab the shell. “Thank you,” he shouts to the retreating figure of Aslan and between blinks, the lion is gone.
They all still for a moment.
Eustace is back in England and they’ve left their older siblings behind. Right now, they’re starting afresh.
“Let’s go home,” Caspian breathes and Edmund follows because he would follow him anywhere.
(A year and two months pass before Aslan is summoned.
The ceremony is large and bright, filled with friends and members of the court while the citizens party in the street.
Edmund and Caspian are married under Aslan’s gentle gaze and they expect the years to fly by.
They do not.
All three of them seem to stop ageing. No wrinkles or grey hairs in sight.
So when Eustace returns, seventy years have passed and yet they have not changed. He tells them that Peter and Susan understand their will to stay and that when they do meet again, they will have a lot to discuss.
The old Edmund would panic about this, about being forever frozen like an ice statue.
But Edmund is better now, he’s brighter. Years by Caspian’s side have made him softer and he’s mellowed further when Lucy welcomes her first child.
The Kings and Queen of Narnia live to be legends and they rule for centuries.
Edmund doesn’t see it as a hardship.
He’s allowed this.
He sees it as bliss.)