Secret Santa: Day 6
Dec. 29th, 2010 07:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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nffr_partyJust two more days until the New Year! I can't believe how quickly the year has gone, and what a phenomenal year it's been at NFFR. Thanks to everyone who's been a part of our year, and I hope to see all of you posting and chatting soon! :)
Today, we have three more gifts. We're getting into the home stretch: Just two more days of presents! If you haven't seen your gift yet, never fear: your resident elves are here to ensure that EVERYONE gets a nifty gift. :)
Please see following post for Tonzura123's gift. Somehow, this post is too big! :P
A fic for chibifukurou
Dreams Enthralled
Edmund comes awake with a loud groan, as a door bangs loudly in the distance and the sound of chains clang across stone floor. He has been dreaming. The chill of night-time desert shattering through bones and causing memories of times past to invade his mind and cloud his judgement. He is not alone. Around him are nearly twenty people, mostly dark skinned, some children, some old, women and men, prisoners. Edmund is separate from them. The tiny space of their cell does not allow for much of a divide. Still, it is present by the fact that they do not speak to him, nor share bodily warmth and comfort. He is different.
The door to the cell opens with a noise like nails grating on skin and the silhouette of a man appears behind the flickering light of a torch. He steps into the cell and the other prisoners shrink back, afraid. Edmund does not. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. I am not afraid of you, is his challenge, do your worst.
The man grins with all his teeth on show and pulls at the chain which had been held loosely in one hand. From behind the man a boy stumbles and with a harsh word the door slams shut and there is a new occupant. The boy is swept into the bosom of the other prisoners with scarcely a glance at Edmund. Edmund cares not, for with the shutting of the door, light is swept away from the room and Edmund can think without fear that others may see the thoughts crossing his face.
He knows he is in trouble.
The Cair’s ballroom was filled to the brim with people and a great amount of food and wine was being consumed, much to the joy of the dryads and fauns who had plans to continue the party long after it was over, and were in fact, already making plans to sneak off once their favourite dance had been performed. The dwarves were already under the table, having a great love of wine, and very little tolerance for it. The dance being attempted was one popular amongst centaurs and horses, for it involved a great amount of bucking and kicking. Nevertheless, Lucy was gamely attempting to join in, and considering that she lacked vital components, was doing rather well at it. After this dance, a stately Pavane began for the more elderly amongst the Cair to enjoy, and then a far livelier Galliard. It was the hope that the Galliard would coax the fauns from their cups for a time as it was a type of dance well suited to them, with many jumps and leaps and the opportunity to show off, as it was largely improvised. Sure enough, as the musicians’ first notes struck the fauns converged on the dance floor. This was the dance they had been waiting for and the naiads and dryads giggled into their cups and made preparations to steal a few barrels whilst the fauns' enthusiastic dancing provided a distraction. To the side of the room was a group of men in fine silks, and loose, flowing robes, perfectly suited to the warm, spring air. They were the ambassadors from Calormen and it was for them that the grand ball had been organised. It was a celebration of the conclusion of the negotiations which had been ongoing for the past two week; two weeks of non-stop feasting, tournaments, music and entertainment, all put on with the idea to impress their uneasy allies. The elephants had been run ragged rehearsing their bards and story tellers, and poor Parthenope, who was such a sweet, young nightingale, would need at least a week off, after singing at table, every single night.
The Galliard was drawing to a close, and as the last note fell to much applause, and as several fauns gave a great leap out of the open doors which led into the courtyard, there came a sudden hush. It was not only the Narnians who felt the need to impress. The Calormen ambassadors had come with a huge array of extravagant gifts and their own entertainment, amongst them flame eaters, exotic dancers (although perhaps the Narnians had the edge on sensual dancing as none of the Calormen girls could disappear in a puff of leaves and a moment later reappear in the lap of an unsuspecting gentleman, as some of the Dryads sometimes did), wrestlers, knife throwers, horse racers, tumblers, jugglers and acrobats. Now, a group of men, naked from the waist up, holding swords in one hand and long, silk ribbon in the other took to the floor for the final performance. They bowed to the thrones, bowed to the setting sun and bowed to each other. A long, narrow, wooden instrument blew out its lingering notes which hung lowly in the air. Coloured smoke began to ease from carefully placed pots to pool around the feet and legs of the men, climbing up their bodies, and the hollow beat of a drum called. They began to dance.
Edmund from his position on the throne, watched them carefully, clapping politely whenever a particularly daring stunt was performed or some clever footwork was used. He appeared utterly entranced. In reality he was anything but.
He hadn’t expected the negotiations to go smoothly, as dealing with Calormen was never smooth. However, he and Susan had carefully worked out their strategy, had scouted their opponents on the battlefield of the diplomatic room. They had thought themselves prepared enough to get a decent deal in the new trade agreement. They were wrong.
The Calormen Prince who they thought they were dealing with had fallen ill and so a new man, an unknown man had been sent to head the negotiations in his place, bringing along an unknown team. This new ambassador gave in easily on issues which Edmund and Susan had thought they would have to fight for, because they were under the impression that such things were worth a lot to the Calormens. And then they fought for higher prices on objects which they were convinced the Calormens cared nothing about. Their information was wrong. On the Narnian side, the Calormens fought vehemently against things Narnia needed. But on the things which Narnia cared little for, but put in to throw Calormen off their true aims, the ambassadors conceded easily. The Calormens information was right. The first could be passed off as bad luck. But this was not just one point of bad luck and Edmund had not become the chief of the Narnian Intelligence by failing to take note of the importance of coincidences.
As one Calormen sliced through a red ribbon, Edmund leaned to the side of his throne to where Peter was watching with rapt attention. Not taking his eyes off the dancing he said, “There is a traitor in this room.”
It is morning. The cell has turned into an oven. The high window is placed in such a way as to catch the sun directly in its sights. The prisoners look more pitiful in the morning. Filth and dust encase their skin and clothes. Beards are overgrown. Some people are asleep, pressing themselves against the cold floor as much as possible. Others clutch their stomachs. They haven’t been fed since their capture. Some have been there longer than Edmund and Edmund has already been there two nights.
The stench has risen as well. They have not been given a bucket, and so are forced to use a corner of the room like dumb animals. It is humiliating. It is meant to be humiliating. They want to train humanity out of their prisoners.
There are heavy footsteps approaching, and some look up hopefully, thinking themselves about to be fed. But there are angry voices, two maybe three men. Edmund recognises the lowest voice and feels both elated and saddened. He has been proven right. His friend, his confidant is a traitor.
The door once again screeches open and Edmund ducks his head. He knows he cannot be recognised. But Dane, the traitor barely gives him a glance. His eyes are drawn to a pretty, young thing in the corner. Her arms and stomach are bare and she appears uncomfortable. The clothes are not her own, but were forced onto her upon her capture. She stares defiantly through dark eyes, unblinking, at Dane and Edmund admires her courage. He wishes he could shield her, but he cannot risk discovery. He is not a fool. He knows what his life is worth, and that he could do little worse than to give it up so recklessly.
As the girl is dragged out of the room, Edmund’s dark eyes catch hers. He gives what strength he can and prays it is enough.
Peter, to his credit, did not flinch or react in any visible way, except to take a sip from his goblet. His wine had been watered down, as Peter had a low ability to hold his drink, and he would not let himself lose control in front of servants of the Tisroc, who Peter knew was an ally only so long as the mood suited him.
“I suspected as much by Susan’s report on the negotiations. Any idea of who it might be?”
Edmund allowed his foot to tap in time with the music and chanced a glance around the room. No one sprang to mind as being overtly suspicious, but then he hadn’t expected them to. In order to be a traitor, one first had to be trusted, and there was the crux of the matter.
“No,” he surreptitiously shook his head, “I could narrow it down, but not enough. I think though, I might have a plan on how to find out.”
The crowd roars with pleasure as another person is sold into slavery. The boy fetched a good price and the traders are pleased. So far not a single slave has gone unsold and so it could be said to be a good day for them, if not for anyone else. It is Edmund’s turn and he is shoved forward to jeers and catcalls, made to circle about, tilt his head, show his smile and display himself as far as possible. He doesn’t fear discovery. He has been standing in full view of several people who have come to pay court to him. They have bowed before his lofty throne and wrote poems of praise to him, but they do not recognise him without his crown and sceptre in hand and without the scores of guards and courtiers that normally surround him.
The traders have taken his clothes. White skin is a delicacy in Calormene and must be put on show. But his white skin has quickly turned red in the high sun and any attraction that he might have had has vanished. In a moment of joy he realises that he will not be sold. He can be of no use to these desert people.
He looks at his captors who appear to have realised the same. They are angry, muttering between themselves and casting blame at the loss of such a profit. The third son of the Tisroc is in the crowd and his tastes were well known.
“I don’t want you to go, Edmund.”
Edmund looked up from where he was carefully spreading jam on a piece of toast. He was already wearing his travelling gear and the contingent of guards who would accompany him part of the way was already assembling. Edmund thought that Peter’s protests were somewhat obsolete at this stage. Susan also thought so as she spoke up from behind a cup of tea, “Really, Peter, what other
option is there?”
Peter scowled, “Some option that does not mean my younger brother goes alone into the heart of Calormene on what is an undoubtedly dangerous mission.”
“Dangerous, only if I am caught,” Edmund said wryly.
“Not helping, Ed,” Susan said as she daintily took a bread roll, and at the same time nodded her head towards her elder brother.
Peter was working himself into a tiff, “You are not going.”
Edmund grew serious, “Is that a command?”
Peter shifted in his seat, “Ed...”
“Peter, if you order me not to, then I will obey, but we decided long ago that there were things that I could do, that you could not. Do you really want to step into my business?”
Peter looked away, “No, I do not pretend to understand it the way you do. But why does it have to be you who goes?”
“Would you rather Susan?”
Susan smiled daintily from behind her cup.
“No!”
“Good, because if Susan went she would have to do things in an entirely different method and I would not want to compromise her virtue in such a manner.”
“Edmund!” said a scandalised Peter. Edmund shared a grin with Susan. They both knew that Susan was capable enough at seduction that she could take without really giving anything. It had been a skill they had utilised many times for the good of Narnia. Of course, Peter did not know that. Peter was an overprotective elder brother at best, and so there were some things that the three younger
siblings had agreed to never tell him. Edmund and Susan put a lot more things on that list than Lucy did, because Lucy was much more open and free, whilst Edmund and Susan weren’t afraid to do distasteful things to achieve an end.
“Stop being obtuse,” Lucy said as she entered the room, after shamelessly eavesdropping. “You know what Peter is trying to get at.”
Peter shot Lucy a thankful look. Lucy would have none of that, “and you! Stop it! You can’t go yourself as you’d make a dreadful spy. Really, Ed is the only option. He, at least, speaks several languages and has dark enough hair and eyes that he can pass off as a merchant from practically any country. You, on the other hand, speak only one language, and are so golden that you practically scream, ‘Here is Peter, High King of Narnia.’ I’d love to see you attempting it. You’d be picked up within minutes by the Tisroc’s guards, and the next thing we know, we’d have a ransom note on top of everything else. That is, if he doesn’t just execute you.”
Lucy was nothing if not blunt.
Peter was nothing if not stubborn.
“But why does he have to go alone?”
Edmund put an hand on Peters shoulder and forced him to stop pacing and look him in the eye, “Because Peter. No talking animal could come with me, and I am forced to put all humans under the suspicion of treason. I have no choice.”
Edmund is not sure how much time has passed since that day at the auction. All he knows is that he was made to go through that process twice more. But the traders are not stationary people. They enjoy trade in many countries, some within the Calormen Empire and some not. Those not sold in Calormen are packed up into the back of caravans and carts to be taken to the next location. They do not know where they are going next but they cross the desert. Edmund is in a cart and the sun beats down on him, and causes thick trails of sweat to seep down his skin, dripping onto the hard wood which he is forced to lie on.
He is sick. It isn’t surprising really. Too much heat, too little food and too many people. It was bound to happen. But he wishes that the pounding in his head would stop for just a moment so that he could think! But the constant thud, thud, thud continues and his stomach rolls along with the cart that he is tied to. He hopes that he will not throw up, because he does not know if he has the strength to move. He prays that he will get better soon because a sick slave is worthless.
The market place was rich and vibrant, with colourful stalls set against white, stone walls. Bodies pushed against each other making their way from merchants shouting out the prices for fine silks, to where fragrant perfumes or heady spices were being bargained. Tarkheenas were led through in litters born by slaves, heavily tented so no dust could dirty them, or sun mar their beautiful, pale skin. It was the busiest time of day. It was just before evening, and within the hour the stalls would close for the night and the merchants would stop selling their wares and all would go silent and still. The streets were not safe to wonder in at night. But now was the time when everyone would be out. The sun was not directly over head and the air seemed less still and heavy, the sky more clear as heat stopped distorting the vision. Soon the sun would descend completely and the heat of the day would change to the icy chill of the night.
In the centre of the market place, a small commotion was being ignored by the vast majority of the people. It was all too familiar a sight. Ordinary people had no protection in Calormen. Barbarian Northerners had even less.
“Get off of me,” Edmund snarled as two men grabbed his arms. He kicked the first one in the kneecap causing him to swear and let go, and twisted his arm in such away which forced the other to release him. He immediately set off at a run, attempting to draw his sword which was tied to his belt. Before he was able, a hard figure collided with him and pushed him to the ground. Dust flew into his mouth. The sword belt was cut, the knife slicing slightly into his skin, and the sword itself was tossed to the side, to be collected and sold later. Edmund spluttered for a moment, but was then hauled to his feet, forced to stare up into the face of a gaunt faced man, with golden teeth, all of which were on show. A thin finger traced his jaw bone and his nose.
“Such a pretty thing. He will fetch a good price. Such beautiful skin.”
Edmund spat.
A fist hit his stomach. Not his face, that was too precious.
There was no interference as Edmund was manacled. He was not a King here. He was a merchant and now he was a slave.
There are trees surrounding them and lush soil, and Edmund knows how far north they have come by the steady drip, drip, drip of water from the canopy overhead. Edmund is lying next to where the horses are tethered as the traders make camp for the night. In their last location they swapped the camels for the horses. Edmund whispers to them in the hopes that they will talk back, and carries on whispering even when it becomes clear that they won’t. He whispers, “I am Edmund and I have a brother called Peter and two sisters called Susan and Lucy. I am a servant of the Lion and he guides me. I am Edmund...”
The traders do not call him by the name he gave them, but by a number. In his delirious state he imagines that he made up his name and that he never had one. He thinks that Peter and Susan and Lucy are simply dreams. He is just a number, just a statistic, just a price.
But he’d rather believe in the dreams.
“I am Edmund.”
Edmund is sick. He is sick because he knows he is now in his own lands. He felt the magic wash over his fading body as he entered. He can see through the haze of his mind familiar trees and familiar stars. He now knows that he is not a number because that feeling could not possibly be false. He is sick because his presence as a captive in his lands means that there are Narnians who own slaves. He wants to throw up, but he dry heaves instead.
They are once again camping. There is a cliff face on one side of them, and thick trees surrounding them and a river only a short while away. The camp is a cold one. The traders do not wish to risk discovery, and have already beaten prisoners for talking too loudly. For Edmund this is not a problem. Already distant, his sickness has made him a pariah amongst the other slaves. They do not have his high value to save them from being killed at the slightest hint of illness. Edmund does not know how much more time he will be given. He does not know how much more willing they will be to haul him around.
In the tree, a crow. Edmund can’t believe it, but there it is. It is staring at Edmund, head tilted to the side as if he can’t quite believe what he is seeing either.
“Get Peter,” Edmund mouths. The crow does a curious bob and flies.
Edmund thinks that he dreamt the Crow after a few more days of being dragged through the wet Narnian soil to be dumped unceremoniously again and again on a sickening cart. He cannot believe himself fortunate enough to have been seen by a Crow. Crows were his in a way that other Narnians were not. They could recognise him in any condition. It could not have been real.
Edmund falls into dreams. He dreams of something grabbing his heart and choking his throat in an icy grip. He wakes up spluttering but cannot sustain that state and falls again. The heat scorches him and he is under the Calormen sun, crowds converging on his naked body, tugging him this way and that, scorning him, jeering him and claiming him. On the cart he tosses fitfully, silent pleas mouthed, “Please! No! Aslan!”
He is in the desert, and ahead there is a lion, large and grand. He is leaving footprints to guide the way.
Edmund stills and he sleeps.
Edmund doesn’t register what is happening at first. There is so much noise and his eyes don’t seem to be working right. He is on the ground. He can feel the earth seeping into his clothes and he can gather up just enough energy to tilt his head slightly to the side and to move his fingers across the ground which he knows is Narnian. But everything is distant and much heavier than it ought to be.
It takes a moment for him to realise what he is hearing. Shouts. Metal clanging, perhaps it is swords?
It certainly sounds like swords, but he might just be dreaming. But no! His eyes blurry though they are can make out the elongated limbs of trees snapping out of the earth to slam down upon unsuspecting heads. There are hoof beats and then he is in the shade, as some four legged being stands protectively over him.
He blinks and when he opens his eyes the sound of battle has faded and kneeling in front of him is a blessedly familiar sight.
“Peter,” Edmund whispers, wanting to reach out a hand to touch him, to confirm that he was real, but his arms are too heavy and will not rise.
Peter instead reaches out his own hand and gently smoothes down his hair. Edmund wants to cry. He is real, so real. He shines so brightly, all golden haired and silver mailed and the sight is so wonderful and he can’t help it, but he really does cry, and he’s laughing at the same time because he’s free and there’s no shame at all, for all that he is supposed to be the dark, mysterious King, because Peter is there and Peter has rescued him.
And he’s rescued the others as well. Edmund can see them being led to where a fire has hastily been built and warm food and clean water is being pressed into their hands, and they are looking at Peter in wonder too, but they are also looking at him in wonder as if seeing him properly for the first time.
And Edmund for the first time in weeks doesn’t feel sick or weak or powerless for all that he is all those things because he is home and Peter is saying his name again and again and again and there is a roaring in his ears which might be shock but it might also be the lion.
And even though Peter is in mail and Edmund is not, and even though he knows it will hurt to have metal shoved against skin, Peter pulls Edmund into an embrace, and suddenly the world, which had seemed so small when he was a slave, becomes huge.
A fic for RedBessRackham
Penny for Your Thoughts
The crisp February air blew across the grounds of King’s College London, on Monday afternoon, as students scurried between lectures. Despite the overcast sky, a pleasant atmosphere was noticeable about the campus. The year was 1948 and, with the recent end of the War, spirits were considerably high. It seemed that everyone regarded this time as a fresh start and, with the cloud of conscription no longer over their heads, they were enjoying their new found freedom with jubilation.
“It’s just thirteen more days till Valentine’s Day! Did I mention Richard was renting us a limo for the party?” a young blonde woman squealed to her two best friends as they walked across a quad.
“Only a million times,” said a brunette rolling her eyes at the girl to her left.
“Ignore her, Heather. She’s just jealous she doesn’t have a beau.” Katherine smirked with a playful swat to Emma’s right arm.
“I’m hardly jealous,” Emma sighed, “I just haven’t found a young man who happens to tickle my fancy is all.”
Her tone was such that her friends knew to drop the subject and they continued walking in silence, until Heather happened to glance over at the edge of the quad.
“Isn’t that Peter Pevensie over there?”
The girls stopped and glanced, rather noticeably, at the young man sitting on the bench. A book lay in his lap, but he seemed quite disinterested in it as his gaze lingered somewhere far off. His expression was reserved, almost grave, as he leaned back and rubbed his head.
“Ah, yes, it is. My brother is going with his sister, Susan. From what I’ve heard, he’s a little queer. He doesn’t socialize with anyone, with the exception of his younger brother and sister, and he’s never had a girlfriend,” Katherine whispered to her friends.
Heather gasped, “You don’t say! That’s rather hard to believe. He’s impressively handsome. The way his hair just falls across his forehead into his eyes...”
“You do remember you’re with Richard don’t you?” Katherine warned. Heather laughed and flipped her hair.
“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be seriously interested in him anyways. There’s something intimidating about him.”
Emma had been uncommonly silent, paying little attention to her friends’ conversation. “I wonder what he’s thinking about?” she wondered absently.
“Why don’t you go over there and ask him?” joked Heather with a giggle. Emma turned to her and smirked.
“And see if I won’t,” she said and began to walk across the quad towards Peter. Heather’s mouth fell open and she spun towards Katherine.
“I was kidding! I didn’t mean for her to waltz over there! And it figures that of all the men at King’s, she’d choose the one with a reputation of being touched in the head!”
“Come on,” Katherine laughed, “let’s not stand here staring,” she said pulling Heather away towards the building.
Peter sat enjoying the silence. It wasn’t often that he could find silence, which was to be expected when one has a younger brother and two younger sisters. It was a right bother to not be able to hear his own thoughts. However, sometimes it was a nice reminder of the days when he and his siblings were great rulers in the land of Narnia.
He sighed and leaned back against the back of the bench. It never went away; missing Narnia. It had been seven years and the pain of not being in Narnia hadn’t quite healed. He didn’t understand how his siblings seemed to cope so well when each day seemed like a punishment to him. It was hardly enjoyable to return to England and live through his life again, as an ordinary young man and not as a king.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Peter turned, startled, towards the voice that had called to him. A young woman, a year or so younger than he, sat down on the bench beside him. She smiled tentatively at him, looking expectant.
“I couldn’t charge you for them. They’re really quite dull,” he said with a slight smile. She laughed lightly.
“I highly doubt that. What are you reading?”
“Philosophy, I have an examination tomorrow.”
“I do believe that you’re in the same philosophy lecture as my brother. Phillip Browning?”
“Yes, I believe I know the name...” Peter said thoughtfully, “With the red hair?”
“Yes. He absolutely hates it though, especially since the rest of us have been blessed with this delightful shade of mousy brown,” she said fluffing her own chignon. “Do you enjoy Carrows as a professor? I was contemplating signing up for his lecture next year.”
“You like philosophy?”
She nodded, “I like asking questions and receiving interesting answers. My mother says I’m too curious for my own good.”
Peter could see that in her. It was in the way she was looking at him, calculating and inquisitive. He imagined that how he felt was comparable to being looked at under a microscope.
“Carrows is quite good. He has a way of making you think without you realizing it.”
Emma laughed and looked across the quad to where her friends stood. Heather was grinning like an idiot and Katherine was pointing at the clock tower above them.
“It’s almost one o’clock. I should be going to class now,” she said a tad reluctantly as she began to stand. Peter was up quickly, extending his hand to her. It was a rather formal and old-fashioned gesture, but Emma found it quite endearing.
“Thank you,” she said with a slight blush, “My name is Emma, by the way.”
“I’m Peter Pevensie,” he replied, shaking the hand that he was still holding. Emma let go to adjust her bag’s strap on her shoulder and looked around awkwardly.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she turned and began walking away. She was hardly two feet away when she heard Peter call her name. Turning around, she saw him walking towards her with an uncertain expression on his face.
“I usually study in the library, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, I wouldn’t mind some company...”
Emma smiled. “I have an afternoon lecture Tuesday, but Thursday is fine. I’ll see you then.”
He nodded and went back to sit on his bench. Emma walked quickly toward her friends who immediately attached themselves to her.
“What’s he like?” Heather asked. “Is he completely mad?” Emma laughed at her friend’s tendency to sensationalize events.
“Quite. I do believe he plans to lock me in his dungeon now.”
---
Peter tapped his pencil against the table. It was an old habit he had from Narnia. Whenever he was faced with a difficult or uncomfortable situation, he would tap his quill against his writing desk. He didn’t particularly have a reason to be feeling agitated in the library though, as it was one of his favourite places. It was comforting to be surrounded by the works of people who had known many things and had lived extraordinary lives. They were a nice of reminder of the life that he had once lived. Truly, it was just a Thursday like any other. Yet, on this particular Thursday, he was waiting for a woman.
Waiting was too strong of a word. He had, rather awkwardly, invited her to join him in the library if she pleased. Whether she was there made no real difference to him. Nevertheless, he half hoped that she would show. There was something different about her. It was in the way she spoke to him, like she was truly interested in what he thought. It was so unlike the women his age that he had encountered. Susan’s friends were a nightmare. They were always giggling and gossiping and wearing more makeup than he deemed necessary. They had never asked him about a book that he was reading. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had many chances seeing as that’s when they usually found it necessary to interrupt him with their maddening flirting, which he pointedly ignored.
“Afternoon, Peter,” Emma said in a hushed tone. Slipping her book bag off her shoulder, she hung it on the back of her chair, with her coat, as she sat. From it she took out a notebook and a novel, laying them on the table.
“It appears I interrupted you in the middle of a thought, again. Anything interesting?” she asked offhandedly as she flipped through her book.
Peter looked down, “Nothing of importance. What are you reading?” he enquired, changing the subject.
She closed the book and turned the cover towards him. “I’m reading Wuthering Heights, for an essay in my English class. It’s one of my favourites.”
“Is it now?” Peter’s eyes lit up and he leaned back and stroked his chin. It was such a different image of him that Emma had seen before and it instantly captured her attention. “Do you believe then, that one can love and hate a person at the same time, like Heathcliff and Cathy?”
Emma grinned at his question, “I don’t believe that one can both love and hate a person. Hate is the absence of love, so where there is hate, there can’t be love. However, I do believe that someone can dislike and love at the same time. Let’s take the book for example. I can easily see how someone could dislike a person for betraying them, but love them as fiercely and passionately all the same. Love can cross boundaries that we can’t even comprehend. Because it is so hard to understand, that is why it can cause so much confusion in people’s lives. When love works with other emotions, the effect is monumental, whether for good or for bad.”
“Very nice,” Peter breathed. “It sounds as if you’ve given it much thought.” Emma’s face reddened and she looked down.
“To tell you the truth, it’s one of the topics in my essay. I wanted to include some philosophy in my paper. And as that’s the most obvious question you can take from the novel...” she trailed off.
“Do you plan on becoming a philosopher after university, then?”
“Hardly,” she chuckled, “I’m nowhere near serious enough for that profession. I plan on being an English professor. I think it’s the closest I can come.”
“My father’s a professor, history though. He teaches at Cambridge. My brother Edmund goes there. He’s studying law.”
“What a gifted family you are.”
Peter nodded. “My sister, Lucy, is an artist. She’s actually quite good. My sister, Susan, used to write but now...she has other interests.” His eyes clouded over and the enthusiasm he had before left. Emma covered his hand with hers and leaned towards him.
“And you?” she asked quietly. She seemed to be asking about more than just his interest. He squeezed her hand lightly.
“I wish I knew.”
Emma squeezed back, “You still have time to figure all that out. You’re only how old?
“Twenty.”
Her brow furrowed, “I would’ve pegged you for older.”
“We should probably start doing our work now,” Peter said a little too sharply, drawing back his hand.
They worked for half an hour before Peter sighed, “I think I’m done for today.”
Emma began to put away her things silently. A shadow passed over her and she looked up to see Peter standing over her. He gestured towards her coat, “May I?”
She smiled. “Thank you.” He gently helped her into her coat and handed her bag. As they began to walk
out, Peter stopped and turned to her.
“Would you like to go out on Saturday? My sister told me about this place downtown. Apparently, it has the best coffee in London.”
“I’d love to,” she said beaming. Peter face lit up with a small grin and he took her hand in his as they walked out.
--
Emma sighed as she read the same sentence in her book for the seventh time. She loved her friends, but sometimes she couldn’t help but want to throttle them.
“Tell us again how your coffee date was?” Heather begged pulling on the sleeve of Emma’s coat. Closing her book, she laid it beside her on the bench.
“I told you. We went to coffee and he was a perfect gentleman. I don’t believe I’ve ever been out with such a courteous person. He walked me all the way home and held my hand the entire way,” she leaned her head in her hand, “I was so sure he would kiss me...”
“That was only your third time alone. It’ll happen in time. Maybe at the party on Saturday,” Katherine said patting Emma’s knee. She leaned back in the bench and groaned.
“There’s something perplexing about him. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking or feeling, like there’s a wall between us. He’ll have these moments where he seems so distant but a second later he’s as charming as can be. And I haven’t even brought up Valentine’s Day...”
With a quick glance to the left, Katherine turned and tapped Emma on the shoulder.
“Speaking of Mr. Charming...”
The three heads turned to see Peter striding towards them. He gave the ladies a small smile and held out his hand to Emma.
“May I steal Emma?” Katherine looked over and smirked at Heather who covered her mouth to muffle her giggles
“Go right ahead and take her.”
Emma blushed as she gathered her things and took Peter’s hand. His grip was secure and he squeezed it as they walked back away from the giggling twosome.
“What were you ladies discussing?”
“The Valentine’s Day party on Saturday night. I didn’t know if you were interested in dances and I hadn’t wanted to bring it up, seeing as its still three days away...”
She chanced a look at Peter who didn’t seem to be paying much attention. His eyes seemed out of focus, as if thinking of a memory. They walked in silence for sometime before the quiet became too much for Emma. She stopped, breaking Peter out of his daze.
“Peter, you seem far away...” she whispered squeezing his hand. His face turned serious and he sighed.
“Sometimes I wish I were.”
Emma gasped. “Excuse me? I’m sorry?” She dropped her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest.
“It’s nothing,” Peter said with a grimace reaching for her shoulder. She stepped away from him harshly. Having two sisters, he could tell when an argument was brewing and he readied himself to take the brunt. Heaven knew it was easier than arguing back.
“It is something. Every time I try to get a bit close to you, you shy away. You’re entitled to your secrets, whatever they may be, but you can’t put up a wall to try and keep me from finding them out. We haven’t known each other long,” her voice quieted, “but I believe we could understand each other well. Until you’re ready to stop being so distant when I’m trying, I can’t do this anymore.”
With that, Emma placed her hand on his arm and looked at him sadly.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she murmured turning and walking away.
--
Dinner at the Pevensie house was generally predictable. If their parents were there, then conversation tended to be pleasant. If their parents weren’t there however, Susan was quiet and usually huffy. This was, of course, due to the fact that her other three siblings typically took this time to discuss their Narnia business. How they could discuss make-believe adventures from their childhood as if they were true, she could not understand. It was typical not to hear Susan speak for the entire evening then. So, the surprise that came when they did hear her speak was truly genuine.
“Peter,” Susan said as she buttered her bread, “I’ve heard a surprising tidbit of gossip about you.”
Peter stiffened dropping his fork to his plate. He turned cold eyes to Susan. “And what might that mean?”
Susan smiled, “I heard that you seem to have lost favour with a certain Emma Browning. Am I mistaken?”
Edmund and Lucy’s eyes slowly traveled from Susan’s face to Peter’s. The tension at the table had become higher than usual and it was obvious, especially on Lucy’s face, whose mouth was half open and eyes looked on in wonder. It was the complete opposite of Edmund, whose face was completely expressionless.
“You know you are not,” Peter said through clenched teeth. Susan smirked and picked up her tea cup.
“I suppose it was to be expected. I don’t know how any woman could put up with a man who refuses to grow up.”
Without a word, Peter stood up. He regarded Susan so severely that even she had to back down a bit with her bravado. Slinking back into her chair, she sipped her tea, avoiding Peter’s glare as he stalked away.
Alone in his room, Peter sat at his desk, staring at the wall. He was angry, not because of what Susan had said, but because it might be true. In Narnia, he had been a king among men and beasts. He was sought out by every noble in the land and had been fawned over terribly. In England he was just like any other man in the country, with nothing special to recommend him. He wished to Aslan that he could be there once more, living the life that he wanted, instead of one so insignificant. A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he turned around to see Lucy peek her head inside.
“May I come in?” she asked tentatively. She knew that she was Peter’s favourite sister, but all the same, it was better to be cautious when he was in a mood. He gestured towards his bed, which Lucy took as an invitation to sit down.
“I’m sorry about Emma, Peter, and about Susan. She shouldn’t have said what she did.”
“You have no need to apologize, Lucy,” he said making his way to sit beside her. “There may be truth behind her words.”
Lucy looked at Peter fiercely, “You know there isn’t a grain of truth to that! Women absolutely adored you in Narnia.”
“They clearly don’t here.” He lay back on his bed staring up at Lucy. “I wish we were back there, Lu. I miss it more and more every day.”
Lucy sighed, “You can’t do that, Peter. Aslan sent us back for a reason. We’re meant to live here. England’s our home.”
“It hardly feels like home. I don’t feel like anyone here.”
“You have to learn how to live here, and the first step is to accept that Narnia is your past and England is your here and now.”
Peter sat up, “How did you do it so well, Lucy?” Admitting that he couldn’t adjust like his younger sister made him feel less and less than the High King he had been.
Lucy smiled and placed her and on his arm, “I found Aslan here, Peter. You can too. It’s not hard and once you do, it’ll help you to move on.”
“How do I do that?” She looked at him sadly, yet a twinkle of hope still danced in her eyes.
“It’s something you have to figure out for yourself. I think he made it that way on purpose. I can tell you, he is all things good and wonderful here, just like there. And you can have a wonderful life here, just like we did in Narnia.”
Peter nodded. “Thanks, Lu.” He reached over and gave her a hug, trying to put into it the volumes he
couldn’t speak. He finally let go and rose up with a loud groan.
“What’s wrong?”
Peter forced a strained smile. “I have to go ask Susan for a favour.”
--
“You know Emma,” Heather said as she did her friend’s makeup, “going to the party single is much better than going with a date anyways. I imagine it’ll be loads more fun.”
“Heather...” whispered in Katherine in reproach as she worked on Emma’s hair.
“Heather, do you honestly believe that going to a party on Valentine’s Day without a date will be better than going with a date?”
Saying nothing after receiving a sharp look from Katherine, Heather spun Emma around in the chair. “Take a look at your glamorous self, Emma!”
Emma couldn’t help but smile as she looked in the mirror. He friends truly were miracle workers. Not only had they made her look prettier than she ever believed she could look, but they had convinced her to go the party anyways, rather than let her stay home by herself.
“You’re such a trooper,” Katherine complimented giving Emma a hug, “We can share Todd for the night. Make sure you get a dance or two out of him!”
“Thank you Katherine, it truly means—” A scream from the window interrupted Emma’s statement.
“The limo’s here!” Heather squealed grabbing her clutch and racing to the front door. Katherine and Emma followed close at her heels and out the front door into the cool February night. Emma shivered slightly, pulling her wrap tightly around here. As much as she insisted to her friends that going to the party alone didn’t hurt her, it did. It wasn’t merely the fact that she was going alone, what stung most was the fact that she was going without Peter. She truly did like him...a lot, and she had wanted to spend the evening with him.
As she walked towards the limo, she was stopped dead in the tracks but the figure climbing out.
“Peter,” she said with mild surprise. He calmly walked over to her and held out his hand. She pointedly looked at him, then up into his eyes. For once, his emotions were scattered across his face. Easily she could make out remorse, sadness, questioning and, dare she say, joy.
“You look...absolutely beautiful. Will you walk with me for a moment?” She glanced at the limo where her friends were enjoying exploring the limo with their beaux. With a curt nod, she ignored his hand, and led him to a park nearby.
He stopped in the centre of a grove of trees and took her hands in his. “Do you believe in the impossible?”
Emma looked down at the ground. “It’s not fair to soften me up with philosophy, Mr. Pevensie.”
He chuckled. “All’s fair in matters of the heart. But you didn’t answer my question.”
She sat down on a bench nearby and leaned her head in her hand. Sitting, next to her, he put his arm around her shoulder and waited.
“I do believe in the impossible. If one didn’t believe in the impossible than progress and achievement couldn't be made. Innovation starts first with an impossible idea that someone turns into reality. Imagination is severely taken for granted. If one is able to think of an idea, no matter how abstract that idea, it is possible for it to become so. Belief in the impossible is faith in something bigger than you. Without the possibility of something bigger than yourself in life, your life would seem quite dull.”
She looked up at him, “Was that the answer you wanted?” Peter leaned back in the bench with his hands behind his head.
“I have a past that’s quite hard to believe. That one would truly consider impossible. I have never wanted to let go of it, because in that time, I learned what it was like to be part of something bigger than myself; something worthwhile. I’ll admit my attempt to live in that past glory has prevented me from trying to live a wonderful life now. I was afraid that by moving on, I’d lose the magnificence of what my life had been. But I realize now that there are different kinds of wonderful and though they made not be the same, they can be equal.”
Emma looked down, “That’s quite insightful of you. How does this affect us?” Once again Peter took her hands in his own and led her to stand up.
“I have been guarded, especially against you, because I was afraid that I couldn’t be who I thought I should be. You are one of those other kinds of wonderful that I didn’t understand. As a matter of fact, you’re brilliant. There’s so much about me that I would like you to know, that would explain so much. I just can’t yet.”
For a long time Emma was silent, finally she looked up at him tenderly. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m perfectly content with who you are Peter Pevensie. Please remember that.”
Peter placed a finger under her chin, tipping her face up towards him. Swiftly he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss that caused a shiver to go through her entire body. She wrapped her arms around her neck, centering herself to him. As he pulled back, he couldn’t hide his grin and the jubilation etched on his face and for the first time, he appeared as the High King in England.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she whispered.
“You,” he answered kissing her forehead, “they’re all you.”
Today, we have three more gifts. We're getting into the home stretch: Just two more days of presents! If you haven't seen your gift yet, never fear: your resident elves are here to ensure that EVERYONE gets a nifty gift. :)
Please see following post for Tonzura123's gift. Somehow, this post is too big! :P
A fic for chibifukurou
Dreams Enthralled
Edmund comes awake with a loud groan, as a door bangs loudly in the distance and the sound of chains clang across stone floor. He has been dreaming. The chill of night-time desert shattering through bones and causing memories of times past to invade his mind and cloud his judgement. He is not alone. Around him are nearly twenty people, mostly dark skinned, some children, some old, women and men, prisoners. Edmund is separate from them. The tiny space of their cell does not allow for much of a divide. Still, it is present by the fact that they do not speak to him, nor share bodily warmth and comfort. He is different.
The door to the cell opens with a noise like nails grating on skin and the silhouette of a man appears behind the flickering light of a torch. He steps into the cell and the other prisoners shrink back, afraid. Edmund does not. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. I am not afraid of you, is his challenge, do your worst.
The man grins with all his teeth on show and pulls at the chain which had been held loosely in one hand. From behind the man a boy stumbles and with a harsh word the door slams shut and there is a new occupant. The boy is swept into the bosom of the other prisoners with scarcely a glance at Edmund. Edmund cares not, for with the shutting of the door, light is swept away from the room and Edmund can think without fear that others may see the thoughts crossing his face.
He knows he is in trouble.
The Cair’s ballroom was filled to the brim with people and a great amount of food and wine was being consumed, much to the joy of the dryads and fauns who had plans to continue the party long after it was over, and were in fact, already making plans to sneak off once their favourite dance had been performed. The dwarves were already under the table, having a great love of wine, and very little tolerance for it. The dance being attempted was one popular amongst centaurs and horses, for it involved a great amount of bucking and kicking. Nevertheless, Lucy was gamely attempting to join in, and considering that she lacked vital components, was doing rather well at it. After this dance, a stately Pavane began for the more elderly amongst the Cair to enjoy, and then a far livelier Galliard. It was the hope that the Galliard would coax the fauns from their cups for a time as it was a type of dance well suited to them, with many jumps and leaps and the opportunity to show off, as it was largely improvised. Sure enough, as the musicians’ first notes struck the fauns converged on the dance floor. This was the dance they had been waiting for and the naiads and dryads giggled into their cups and made preparations to steal a few barrels whilst the fauns' enthusiastic dancing provided a distraction. To the side of the room was a group of men in fine silks, and loose, flowing robes, perfectly suited to the warm, spring air. They were the ambassadors from Calormen and it was for them that the grand ball had been organised. It was a celebration of the conclusion of the negotiations which had been ongoing for the past two week; two weeks of non-stop feasting, tournaments, music and entertainment, all put on with the idea to impress their uneasy allies. The elephants had been run ragged rehearsing their bards and story tellers, and poor Parthenope, who was such a sweet, young nightingale, would need at least a week off, after singing at table, every single night.
The Galliard was drawing to a close, and as the last note fell to much applause, and as several fauns gave a great leap out of the open doors which led into the courtyard, there came a sudden hush. It was not only the Narnians who felt the need to impress. The Calormen ambassadors had come with a huge array of extravagant gifts and their own entertainment, amongst them flame eaters, exotic dancers (although perhaps the Narnians had the edge on sensual dancing as none of the Calormen girls could disappear in a puff of leaves and a moment later reappear in the lap of an unsuspecting gentleman, as some of the Dryads sometimes did), wrestlers, knife throwers, horse racers, tumblers, jugglers and acrobats. Now, a group of men, naked from the waist up, holding swords in one hand and long, silk ribbon in the other took to the floor for the final performance. They bowed to the thrones, bowed to the setting sun and bowed to each other. A long, narrow, wooden instrument blew out its lingering notes which hung lowly in the air. Coloured smoke began to ease from carefully placed pots to pool around the feet and legs of the men, climbing up their bodies, and the hollow beat of a drum called. They began to dance.
Edmund from his position on the throne, watched them carefully, clapping politely whenever a particularly daring stunt was performed or some clever footwork was used. He appeared utterly entranced. In reality he was anything but.
He hadn’t expected the negotiations to go smoothly, as dealing with Calormen was never smooth. However, he and Susan had carefully worked out their strategy, had scouted their opponents on the battlefield of the diplomatic room. They had thought themselves prepared enough to get a decent deal in the new trade agreement. They were wrong.
The Calormen Prince who they thought they were dealing with had fallen ill and so a new man, an unknown man had been sent to head the negotiations in his place, bringing along an unknown team. This new ambassador gave in easily on issues which Edmund and Susan had thought they would have to fight for, because they were under the impression that such things were worth a lot to the Calormens. And then they fought for higher prices on objects which they were convinced the Calormens cared nothing about. Their information was wrong. On the Narnian side, the Calormens fought vehemently against things Narnia needed. But on the things which Narnia cared little for, but put in to throw Calormen off their true aims, the ambassadors conceded easily. The Calormens information was right. The first could be passed off as bad luck. But this was not just one point of bad luck and Edmund had not become the chief of the Narnian Intelligence by failing to take note of the importance of coincidences.
As one Calormen sliced through a red ribbon, Edmund leaned to the side of his throne to where Peter was watching with rapt attention. Not taking his eyes off the dancing he said, “There is a traitor in this room.”
It is morning. The cell has turned into an oven. The high window is placed in such a way as to catch the sun directly in its sights. The prisoners look more pitiful in the morning. Filth and dust encase their skin and clothes. Beards are overgrown. Some people are asleep, pressing themselves against the cold floor as much as possible. Others clutch their stomachs. They haven’t been fed since their capture. Some have been there longer than Edmund and Edmund has already been there two nights.
The stench has risen as well. They have not been given a bucket, and so are forced to use a corner of the room like dumb animals. It is humiliating. It is meant to be humiliating. They want to train humanity out of their prisoners.
There are heavy footsteps approaching, and some look up hopefully, thinking themselves about to be fed. But there are angry voices, two maybe three men. Edmund recognises the lowest voice and feels both elated and saddened. He has been proven right. His friend, his confidant is a traitor.
The door once again screeches open and Edmund ducks his head. He knows he cannot be recognised. But Dane, the traitor barely gives him a glance. His eyes are drawn to a pretty, young thing in the corner. Her arms and stomach are bare and she appears uncomfortable. The clothes are not her own, but were forced onto her upon her capture. She stares defiantly through dark eyes, unblinking, at Dane and Edmund admires her courage. He wishes he could shield her, but he cannot risk discovery. He is not a fool. He knows what his life is worth, and that he could do little worse than to give it up so recklessly.
As the girl is dragged out of the room, Edmund’s dark eyes catch hers. He gives what strength he can and prays it is enough.
Peter, to his credit, did not flinch or react in any visible way, except to take a sip from his goblet. His wine had been watered down, as Peter had a low ability to hold his drink, and he would not let himself lose control in front of servants of the Tisroc, who Peter knew was an ally only so long as the mood suited him.
“I suspected as much by Susan’s report on the negotiations. Any idea of who it might be?”
Edmund allowed his foot to tap in time with the music and chanced a glance around the room. No one sprang to mind as being overtly suspicious, but then he hadn’t expected them to. In order to be a traitor, one first had to be trusted, and there was the crux of the matter.
“No,” he surreptitiously shook his head, “I could narrow it down, but not enough. I think though, I might have a plan on how to find out.”
The crowd roars with pleasure as another person is sold into slavery. The boy fetched a good price and the traders are pleased. So far not a single slave has gone unsold and so it could be said to be a good day for them, if not for anyone else. It is Edmund’s turn and he is shoved forward to jeers and catcalls, made to circle about, tilt his head, show his smile and display himself as far as possible. He doesn’t fear discovery. He has been standing in full view of several people who have come to pay court to him. They have bowed before his lofty throne and wrote poems of praise to him, but they do not recognise him without his crown and sceptre in hand and without the scores of guards and courtiers that normally surround him.
The traders have taken his clothes. White skin is a delicacy in Calormene and must be put on show. But his white skin has quickly turned red in the high sun and any attraction that he might have had has vanished. In a moment of joy he realises that he will not be sold. He can be of no use to these desert people.
He looks at his captors who appear to have realised the same. They are angry, muttering between themselves and casting blame at the loss of such a profit. The third son of the Tisroc is in the crowd and his tastes were well known.
“I don’t want you to go, Edmund.”
Edmund looked up from where he was carefully spreading jam on a piece of toast. He was already wearing his travelling gear and the contingent of guards who would accompany him part of the way was already assembling. Edmund thought that Peter’s protests were somewhat obsolete at this stage. Susan also thought so as she spoke up from behind a cup of tea, “Really, Peter, what other
option is there?”
Peter scowled, “Some option that does not mean my younger brother goes alone into the heart of Calormene on what is an undoubtedly dangerous mission.”
“Dangerous, only if I am caught,” Edmund said wryly.
“Not helping, Ed,” Susan said as she daintily took a bread roll, and at the same time nodded her head towards her elder brother.
Peter was working himself into a tiff, “You are not going.”
Edmund grew serious, “Is that a command?”
Peter shifted in his seat, “Ed...”
“Peter, if you order me not to, then I will obey, but we decided long ago that there were things that I could do, that you could not. Do you really want to step into my business?”
Peter looked away, “No, I do not pretend to understand it the way you do. But why does it have to be you who goes?”
“Would you rather Susan?”
Susan smiled daintily from behind her cup.
“No!”
“Good, because if Susan went she would have to do things in an entirely different method and I would not want to compromise her virtue in such a manner.”
“Edmund!” said a scandalised Peter. Edmund shared a grin with Susan. They both knew that Susan was capable enough at seduction that she could take without really giving anything. It had been a skill they had utilised many times for the good of Narnia. Of course, Peter did not know that. Peter was an overprotective elder brother at best, and so there were some things that the three younger
siblings had agreed to never tell him. Edmund and Susan put a lot more things on that list than Lucy did, because Lucy was much more open and free, whilst Edmund and Susan weren’t afraid to do distasteful things to achieve an end.
“Stop being obtuse,” Lucy said as she entered the room, after shamelessly eavesdropping. “You know what Peter is trying to get at.”
Peter shot Lucy a thankful look. Lucy would have none of that, “and you! Stop it! You can’t go yourself as you’d make a dreadful spy. Really, Ed is the only option. He, at least, speaks several languages and has dark enough hair and eyes that he can pass off as a merchant from practically any country. You, on the other hand, speak only one language, and are so golden that you practically scream, ‘Here is Peter, High King of Narnia.’ I’d love to see you attempting it. You’d be picked up within minutes by the Tisroc’s guards, and the next thing we know, we’d have a ransom note on top of everything else. That is, if he doesn’t just execute you.”
Lucy was nothing if not blunt.
Peter was nothing if not stubborn.
“But why does he have to go alone?”
Edmund put an hand on Peters shoulder and forced him to stop pacing and look him in the eye, “Because Peter. No talking animal could come with me, and I am forced to put all humans under the suspicion of treason. I have no choice.”
Edmund is not sure how much time has passed since that day at the auction. All he knows is that he was made to go through that process twice more. But the traders are not stationary people. They enjoy trade in many countries, some within the Calormen Empire and some not. Those not sold in Calormen are packed up into the back of caravans and carts to be taken to the next location. They do not know where they are going next but they cross the desert. Edmund is in a cart and the sun beats down on him, and causes thick trails of sweat to seep down his skin, dripping onto the hard wood which he is forced to lie on.
He is sick. It isn’t surprising really. Too much heat, too little food and too many people. It was bound to happen. But he wishes that the pounding in his head would stop for just a moment so that he could think! But the constant thud, thud, thud continues and his stomach rolls along with the cart that he is tied to. He hopes that he will not throw up, because he does not know if he has the strength to move. He prays that he will get better soon because a sick slave is worthless.
The market place was rich and vibrant, with colourful stalls set against white, stone walls. Bodies pushed against each other making their way from merchants shouting out the prices for fine silks, to where fragrant perfumes or heady spices were being bargained. Tarkheenas were led through in litters born by slaves, heavily tented so no dust could dirty them, or sun mar their beautiful, pale skin. It was the busiest time of day. It was just before evening, and within the hour the stalls would close for the night and the merchants would stop selling their wares and all would go silent and still. The streets were not safe to wonder in at night. But now was the time when everyone would be out. The sun was not directly over head and the air seemed less still and heavy, the sky more clear as heat stopped distorting the vision. Soon the sun would descend completely and the heat of the day would change to the icy chill of the night.
In the centre of the market place, a small commotion was being ignored by the vast majority of the people. It was all too familiar a sight. Ordinary people had no protection in Calormen. Barbarian Northerners had even less.
“Get off of me,” Edmund snarled as two men grabbed his arms. He kicked the first one in the kneecap causing him to swear and let go, and twisted his arm in such away which forced the other to release him. He immediately set off at a run, attempting to draw his sword which was tied to his belt. Before he was able, a hard figure collided with him and pushed him to the ground. Dust flew into his mouth. The sword belt was cut, the knife slicing slightly into his skin, and the sword itself was tossed to the side, to be collected and sold later. Edmund spluttered for a moment, but was then hauled to his feet, forced to stare up into the face of a gaunt faced man, with golden teeth, all of which were on show. A thin finger traced his jaw bone and his nose.
“Such a pretty thing. He will fetch a good price. Such beautiful skin.”
Edmund spat.
A fist hit his stomach. Not his face, that was too precious.
There was no interference as Edmund was manacled. He was not a King here. He was a merchant and now he was a slave.
There are trees surrounding them and lush soil, and Edmund knows how far north they have come by the steady drip, drip, drip of water from the canopy overhead. Edmund is lying next to where the horses are tethered as the traders make camp for the night. In their last location they swapped the camels for the horses. Edmund whispers to them in the hopes that they will talk back, and carries on whispering even when it becomes clear that they won’t. He whispers, “I am Edmund and I have a brother called Peter and two sisters called Susan and Lucy. I am a servant of the Lion and he guides me. I am Edmund...”
The traders do not call him by the name he gave them, but by a number. In his delirious state he imagines that he made up his name and that he never had one. He thinks that Peter and Susan and Lucy are simply dreams. He is just a number, just a statistic, just a price.
But he’d rather believe in the dreams.
“I am Edmund.”
Edmund is sick. He is sick because he knows he is now in his own lands. He felt the magic wash over his fading body as he entered. He can see through the haze of his mind familiar trees and familiar stars. He now knows that he is not a number because that feeling could not possibly be false. He is sick because his presence as a captive in his lands means that there are Narnians who own slaves. He wants to throw up, but he dry heaves instead.
They are once again camping. There is a cliff face on one side of them, and thick trees surrounding them and a river only a short while away. The camp is a cold one. The traders do not wish to risk discovery, and have already beaten prisoners for talking too loudly. For Edmund this is not a problem. Already distant, his sickness has made him a pariah amongst the other slaves. They do not have his high value to save them from being killed at the slightest hint of illness. Edmund does not know how much more time he will be given. He does not know how much more willing they will be to haul him around.
In the tree, a crow. Edmund can’t believe it, but there it is. It is staring at Edmund, head tilted to the side as if he can’t quite believe what he is seeing either.
“Get Peter,” Edmund mouths. The crow does a curious bob and flies.
Edmund thinks that he dreamt the Crow after a few more days of being dragged through the wet Narnian soil to be dumped unceremoniously again and again on a sickening cart. He cannot believe himself fortunate enough to have been seen by a Crow. Crows were his in a way that other Narnians were not. They could recognise him in any condition. It could not have been real.
Edmund falls into dreams. He dreams of something grabbing his heart and choking his throat in an icy grip. He wakes up spluttering but cannot sustain that state and falls again. The heat scorches him and he is under the Calormen sun, crowds converging on his naked body, tugging him this way and that, scorning him, jeering him and claiming him. On the cart he tosses fitfully, silent pleas mouthed, “Please! No! Aslan!”
He is in the desert, and ahead there is a lion, large and grand. He is leaving footprints to guide the way.
Edmund stills and he sleeps.
Edmund doesn’t register what is happening at first. There is so much noise and his eyes don’t seem to be working right. He is on the ground. He can feel the earth seeping into his clothes and he can gather up just enough energy to tilt his head slightly to the side and to move his fingers across the ground which he knows is Narnian. But everything is distant and much heavier than it ought to be.
It takes a moment for him to realise what he is hearing. Shouts. Metal clanging, perhaps it is swords?
It certainly sounds like swords, but he might just be dreaming. But no! His eyes blurry though they are can make out the elongated limbs of trees snapping out of the earth to slam down upon unsuspecting heads. There are hoof beats and then he is in the shade, as some four legged being stands protectively over him.
He blinks and when he opens his eyes the sound of battle has faded and kneeling in front of him is a blessedly familiar sight.
“Peter,” Edmund whispers, wanting to reach out a hand to touch him, to confirm that he was real, but his arms are too heavy and will not rise.
Peter instead reaches out his own hand and gently smoothes down his hair. Edmund wants to cry. He is real, so real. He shines so brightly, all golden haired and silver mailed and the sight is so wonderful and he can’t help it, but he really does cry, and he’s laughing at the same time because he’s free and there’s no shame at all, for all that he is supposed to be the dark, mysterious King, because Peter is there and Peter has rescued him.
And he’s rescued the others as well. Edmund can see them being led to where a fire has hastily been built and warm food and clean water is being pressed into their hands, and they are looking at Peter in wonder too, but they are also looking at him in wonder as if seeing him properly for the first time.
And Edmund for the first time in weeks doesn’t feel sick or weak or powerless for all that he is all those things because he is home and Peter is saying his name again and again and again and there is a roaring in his ears which might be shock but it might also be the lion.
And even though Peter is in mail and Edmund is not, and even though he knows it will hurt to have metal shoved against skin, Peter pulls Edmund into an embrace, and suddenly the world, which had seemed so small when he was a slave, becomes huge.
A fic for RedBessRackham
Penny for Your Thoughts
The crisp February air blew across the grounds of King’s College London, on Monday afternoon, as students scurried between lectures. Despite the overcast sky, a pleasant atmosphere was noticeable about the campus. The year was 1948 and, with the recent end of the War, spirits were considerably high. It seemed that everyone regarded this time as a fresh start and, with the cloud of conscription no longer over their heads, they were enjoying their new found freedom with jubilation.
“It’s just thirteen more days till Valentine’s Day! Did I mention Richard was renting us a limo for the party?” a young blonde woman squealed to her two best friends as they walked across a quad.
“Only a million times,” said a brunette rolling her eyes at the girl to her left.
“Ignore her, Heather. She’s just jealous she doesn’t have a beau.” Katherine smirked with a playful swat to Emma’s right arm.
“I’m hardly jealous,” Emma sighed, “I just haven’t found a young man who happens to tickle my fancy is all.”
Her tone was such that her friends knew to drop the subject and they continued walking in silence, until Heather happened to glance over at the edge of the quad.
“Isn’t that Peter Pevensie over there?”
The girls stopped and glanced, rather noticeably, at the young man sitting on the bench. A book lay in his lap, but he seemed quite disinterested in it as his gaze lingered somewhere far off. His expression was reserved, almost grave, as he leaned back and rubbed his head.
“Ah, yes, it is. My brother is going with his sister, Susan. From what I’ve heard, he’s a little queer. He doesn’t socialize with anyone, with the exception of his younger brother and sister, and he’s never had a girlfriend,” Katherine whispered to her friends.
Heather gasped, “You don’t say! That’s rather hard to believe. He’s impressively handsome. The way his hair just falls across his forehead into his eyes...”
“You do remember you’re with Richard don’t you?” Katherine warned. Heather laughed and flipped her hair.
“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t be seriously interested in him anyways. There’s something intimidating about him.”
Emma had been uncommonly silent, paying little attention to her friends’ conversation. “I wonder what he’s thinking about?” she wondered absently.
“Why don’t you go over there and ask him?” joked Heather with a giggle. Emma turned to her and smirked.
“And see if I won’t,” she said and began to walk across the quad towards Peter. Heather’s mouth fell open and she spun towards Katherine.
“I was kidding! I didn’t mean for her to waltz over there! And it figures that of all the men at King’s, she’d choose the one with a reputation of being touched in the head!”
“Come on,” Katherine laughed, “let’s not stand here staring,” she said pulling Heather away towards the building.
Peter sat enjoying the silence. It wasn’t often that he could find silence, which was to be expected when one has a younger brother and two younger sisters. It was a right bother to not be able to hear his own thoughts. However, sometimes it was a nice reminder of the days when he and his siblings were great rulers in the land of Narnia.
He sighed and leaned back against the back of the bench. It never went away; missing Narnia. It had been seven years and the pain of not being in Narnia hadn’t quite healed. He didn’t understand how his siblings seemed to cope so well when each day seemed like a punishment to him. It was hardly enjoyable to return to England and live through his life again, as an ordinary young man and not as a king.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Peter turned, startled, towards the voice that had called to him. A young woman, a year or so younger than he, sat down on the bench beside him. She smiled tentatively at him, looking expectant.
“I couldn’t charge you for them. They’re really quite dull,” he said with a slight smile. She laughed lightly.
“I highly doubt that. What are you reading?”
“Philosophy, I have an examination tomorrow.”
“I do believe that you’re in the same philosophy lecture as my brother. Phillip Browning?”
“Yes, I believe I know the name...” Peter said thoughtfully, “With the red hair?”
“Yes. He absolutely hates it though, especially since the rest of us have been blessed with this delightful shade of mousy brown,” she said fluffing her own chignon. “Do you enjoy Carrows as a professor? I was contemplating signing up for his lecture next year.”
“You like philosophy?”
She nodded, “I like asking questions and receiving interesting answers. My mother says I’m too curious for my own good.”
Peter could see that in her. It was in the way she was looking at him, calculating and inquisitive. He imagined that how he felt was comparable to being looked at under a microscope.
“Carrows is quite good. He has a way of making you think without you realizing it.”
Emma laughed and looked across the quad to where her friends stood. Heather was grinning like an idiot and Katherine was pointing at the clock tower above them.
“It’s almost one o’clock. I should be going to class now,” she said a tad reluctantly as she began to stand. Peter was up quickly, extending his hand to her. It was a rather formal and old-fashioned gesture, but Emma found it quite endearing.
“Thank you,” she said with a slight blush, “My name is Emma, by the way.”
“I’m Peter Pevensie,” he replied, shaking the hand that he was still holding. Emma let go to adjust her bag’s strap on her shoulder and looked around awkwardly.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” she turned and began walking away. She was hardly two feet away when she heard Peter call her name. Turning around, she saw him walking towards her with an uncertain expression on his face.
“I usually study in the library, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, I wouldn’t mind some company...”
Emma smiled. “I have an afternoon lecture Tuesday, but Thursday is fine. I’ll see you then.”
He nodded and went back to sit on his bench. Emma walked quickly toward her friends who immediately attached themselves to her.
“What’s he like?” Heather asked. “Is he completely mad?” Emma laughed at her friend’s tendency to sensationalize events.
“Quite. I do believe he plans to lock me in his dungeon now.”
---
Peter tapped his pencil against the table. It was an old habit he had from Narnia. Whenever he was faced with a difficult or uncomfortable situation, he would tap his quill against his writing desk. He didn’t particularly have a reason to be feeling agitated in the library though, as it was one of his favourite places. It was comforting to be surrounded by the works of people who had known many things and had lived extraordinary lives. They were a nice of reminder of the life that he had once lived. Truly, it was just a Thursday like any other. Yet, on this particular Thursday, he was waiting for a woman.
Waiting was too strong of a word. He had, rather awkwardly, invited her to join him in the library if she pleased. Whether she was there made no real difference to him. Nevertheless, he half hoped that she would show. There was something different about her. It was in the way she spoke to him, like she was truly interested in what he thought. It was so unlike the women his age that he had encountered. Susan’s friends were a nightmare. They were always giggling and gossiping and wearing more makeup than he deemed necessary. They had never asked him about a book that he was reading. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had many chances seeing as that’s when they usually found it necessary to interrupt him with their maddening flirting, which he pointedly ignored.
“Afternoon, Peter,” Emma said in a hushed tone. Slipping her book bag off her shoulder, she hung it on the back of her chair, with her coat, as she sat. From it she took out a notebook and a novel, laying them on the table.
“It appears I interrupted you in the middle of a thought, again. Anything interesting?” she asked offhandedly as she flipped through her book.
Peter looked down, “Nothing of importance. What are you reading?” he enquired, changing the subject.
She closed the book and turned the cover towards him. “I’m reading Wuthering Heights, for an essay in my English class. It’s one of my favourites.”
“Is it now?” Peter’s eyes lit up and he leaned back and stroked his chin. It was such a different image of him that Emma had seen before and it instantly captured her attention. “Do you believe then, that one can love and hate a person at the same time, like Heathcliff and Cathy?”
Emma grinned at his question, “I don’t believe that one can both love and hate a person. Hate is the absence of love, so where there is hate, there can’t be love. However, I do believe that someone can dislike and love at the same time. Let’s take the book for example. I can easily see how someone could dislike a person for betraying them, but love them as fiercely and passionately all the same. Love can cross boundaries that we can’t even comprehend. Because it is so hard to understand, that is why it can cause so much confusion in people’s lives. When love works with other emotions, the effect is monumental, whether for good or for bad.”
“Very nice,” Peter breathed. “It sounds as if you’ve given it much thought.” Emma’s face reddened and she looked down.
“To tell you the truth, it’s one of the topics in my essay. I wanted to include some philosophy in my paper. And as that’s the most obvious question you can take from the novel...” she trailed off.
“Do you plan on becoming a philosopher after university, then?”
“Hardly,” she chuckled, “I’m nowhere near serious enough for that profession. I plan on being an English professor. I think it’s the closest I can come.”
“My father’s a professor, history though. He teaches at Cambridge. My brother Edmund goes there. He’s studying law.”
“What a gifted family you are.”
Peter nodded. “My sister, Lucy, is an artist. She’s actually quite good. My sister, Susan, used to write but now...she has other interests.” His eyes clouded over and the enthusiasm he had before left. Emma covered his hand with hers and leaned towards him.
“And you?” she asked quietly. She seemed to be asking about more than just his interest. He squeezed her hand lightly.
“I wish I knew.”
Emma squeezed back, “You still have time to figure all that out. You’re only how old?
“Twenty.”
Her brow furrowed, “I would’ve pegged you for older.”
“We should probably start doing our work now,” Peter said a little too sharply, drawing back his hand.
They worked for half an hour before Peter sighed, “I think I’m done for today.”
Emma began to put away her things silently. A shadow passed over her and she looked up to see Peter standing over her. He gestured towards her coat, “May I?”
She smiled. “Thank you.” He gently helped her into her coat and handed her bag. As they began to walk
out, Peter stopped and turned to her.
“Would you like to go out on Saturday? My sister told me about this place downtown. Apparently, it has the best coffee in London.”
“I’d love to,” she said beaming. Peter face lit up with a small grin and he took her hand in his as they walked out.
--
Emma sighed as she read the same sentence in her book for the seventh time. She loved her friends, but sometimes she couldn’t help but want to throttle them.
“Tell us again how your coffee date was?” Heather begged pulling on the sleeve of Emma’s coat. Closing her book, she laid it beside her on the bench.
“I told you. We went to coffee and he was a perfect gentleman. I don’t believe I’ve ever been out with such a courteous person. He walked me all the way home and held my hand the entire way,” she leaned her head in her hand, “I was so sure he would kiss me...”
“That was only your third time alone. It’ll happen in time. Maybe at the party on Saturday,” Katherine said patting Emma’s knee. She leaned back in the bench and groaned.
“There’s something perplexing about him. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking or feeling, like there’s a wall between us. He’ll have these moments where he seems so distant but a second later he’s as charming as can be. And I haven’t even brought up Valentine’s Day...”
With a quick glance to the left, Katherine turned and tapped Emma on the shoulder.
“Speaking of Mr. Charming...”
The three heads turned to see Peter striding towards them. He gave the ladies a small smile and held out his hand to Emma.
“May I steal Emma?” Katherine looked over and smirked at Heather who covered her mouth to muffle her giggles
“Go right ahead and take her.”
Emma blushed as she gathered her things and took Peter’s hand. His grip was secure and he squeezed it as they walked back away from the giggling twosome.
“What were you ladies discussing?”
“The Valentine’s Day party on Saturday night. I didn’t know if you were interested in dances and I hadn’t wanted to bring it up, seeing as its still three days away...”
She chanced a look at Peter who didn’t seem to be paying much attention. His eyes seemed out of focus, as if thinking of a memory. They walked in silence for sometime before the quiet became too much for Emma. She stopped, breaking Peter out of his daze.
“Peter, you seem far away...” she whispered squeezing his hand. His face turned serious and he sighed.
“Sometimes I wish I were.”
Emma gasped. “Excuse me? I’m sorry?” She dropped her hand from his and folded her arms across her chest.
“It’s nothing,” Peter said with a grimace reaching for her shoulder. She stepped away from him harshly. Having two sisters, he could tell when an argument was brewing and he readied himself to take the brunt. Heaven knew it was easier than arguing back.
“It is something. Every time I try to get a bit close to you, you shy away. You’re entitled to your secrets, whatever they may be, but you can’t put up a wall to try and keep me from finding them out. We haven’t known each other long,” her voice quieted, “but I believe we could understand each other well. Until you’re ready to stop being so distant when I’m trying, I can’t do this anymore.”
With that, Emma placed her hand on his arm and looked at him sadly.
“Goodbye, Peter,” she murmured turning and walking away.
--
Dinner at the Pevensie house was generally predictable. If their parents were there, then conversation tended to be pleasant. If their parents weren’t there however, Susan was quiet and usually huffy. This was, of course, due to the fact that her other three siblings typically took this time to discuss their Narnia business. How they could discuss make-believe adventures from their childhood as if they were true, she could not understand. It was typical not to hear Susan speak for the entire evening then. So, the surprise that came when they did hear her speak was truly genuine.
“Peter,” Susan said as she buttered her bread, “I’ve heard a surprising tidbit of gossip about you.”
Peter stiffened dropping his fork to his plate. He turned cold eyes to Susan. “And what might that mean?”
Susan smiled, “I heard that you seem to have lost favour with a certain Emma Browning. Am I mistaken?”
Edmund and Lucy’s eyes slowly traveled from Susan’s face to Peter’s. The tension at the table had become higher than usual and it was obvious, especially on Lucy’s face, whose mouth was half open and eyes looked on in wonder. It was the complete opposite of Edmund, whose face was completely expressionless.
“You know you are not,” Peter said through clenched teeth. Susan smirked and picked up her tea cup.
“I suppose it was to be expected. I don’t know how any woman could put up with a man who refuses to grow up.”
Without a word, Peter stood up. He regarded Susan so severely that even she had to back down a bit with her bravado. Slinking back into her chair, she sipped her tea, avoiding Peter’s glare as he stalked away.
Alone in his room, Peter sat at his desk, staring at the wall. He was angry, not because of what Susan had said, but because it might be true. In Narnia, he had been a king among men and beasts. He was sought out by every noble in the land and had been fawned over terribly. In England he was just like any other man in the country, with nothing special to recommend him. He wished to Aslan that he could be there once more, living the life that he wanted, instead of one so insignificant. A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he turned around to see Lucy peek her head inside.
“May I come in?” she asked tentatively. She knew that she was Peter’s favourite sister, but all the same, it was better to be cautious when he was in a mood. He gestured towards his bed, which Lucy took as an invitation to sit down.
“I’m sorry about Emma, Peter, and about Susan. She shouldn’t have said what she did.”
“You have no need to apologize, Lucy,” he said making his way to sit beside her. “There may be truth behind her words.”
Lucy looked at Peter fiercely, “You know there isn’t a grain of truth to that! Women absolutely adored you in Narnia.”
“They clearly don’t here.” He lay back on his bed staring up at Lucy. “I wish we were back there, Lu. I miss it more and more every day.”
Lucy sighed, “You can’t do that, Peter. Aslan sent us back for a reason. We’re meant to live here. England’s our home.”
“It hardly feels like home. I don’t feel like anyone here.”
“You have to learn how to live here, and the first step is to accept that Narnia is your past and England is your here and now.”
Peter sat up, “How did you do it so well, Lucy?” Admitting that he couldn’t adjust like his younger sister made him feel less and less than the High King he had been.
Lucy smiled and placed her and on his arm, “I found Aslan here, Peter. You can too. It’s not hard and once you do, it’ll help you to move on.”
“How do I do that?” She looked at him sadly, yet a twinkle of hope still danced in her eyes.
“It’s something you have to figure out for yourself. I think he made it that way on purpose. I can tell you, he is all things good and wonderful here, just like there. And you can have a wonderful life here, just like we did in Narnia.”
Peter nodded. “Thanks, Lu.” He reached over and gave her a hug, trying to put into it the volumes he
couldn’t speak. He finally let go and rose up with a loud groan.
“What’s wrong?”
Peter forced a strained smile. “I have to go ask Susan for a favour.”
--
“You know Emma,” Heather said as she did her friend’s makeup, “going to the party single is much better than going with a date anyways. I imagine it’ll be loads more fun.”
“Heather...” whispered in Katherine in reproach as she worked on Emma’s hair.
“Heather, do you honestly believe that going to a party on Valentine’s Day without a date will be better than going with a date?”
Saying nothing after receiving a sharp look from Katherine, Heather spun Emma around in the chair. “Take a look at your glamorous self, Emma!”
Emma couldn’t help but smile as she looked in the mirror. He friends truly were miracle workers. Not only had they made her look prettier than she ever believed she could look, but they had convinced her to go the party anyways, rather than let her stay home by herself.
“You’re such a trooper,” Katherine complimented giving Emma a hug, “We can share Todd for the night. Make sure you get a dance or two out of him!”
“Thank you Katherine, it truly means—” A scream from the window interrupted Emma’s statement.
“The limo’s here!” Heather squealed grabbing her clutch and racing to the front door. Katherine and Emma followed close at her heels and out the front door into the cool February night. Emma shivered slightly, pulling her wrap tightly around here. As much as she insisted to her friends that going to the party alone didn’t hurt her, it did. It wasn’t merely the fact that she was going alone, what stung most was the fact that she was going without Peter. She truly did like him...a lot, and she had wanted to spend the evening with him.
As she walked towards the limo, she was stopped dead in the tracks but the figure climbing out.
“Peter,” she said with mild surprise. He calmly walked over to her and held out his hand. She pointedly looked at him, then up into his eyes. For once, his emotions were scattered across his face. Easily she could make out remorse, sadness, questioning and, dare she say, joy.
“You look...absolutely beautiful. Will you walk with me for a moment?” She glanced at the limo where her friends were enjoying exploring the limo with their beaux. With a curt nod, she ignored his hand, and led him to a park nearby.
He stopped in the centre of a grove of trees and took her hands in his. “Do you believe in the impossible?”
Emma looked down at the ground. “It’s not fair to soften me up with philosophy, Mr. Pevensie.”
He chuckled. “All’s fair in matters of the heart. But you didn’t answer my question.”
She sat down on a bench nearby and leaned her head in her hand. Sitting, next to her, he put his arm around her shoulder and waited.
“I do believe in the impossible. If one didn’t believe in the impossible than progress and achievement couldn't be made. Innovation starts first with an impossible idea that someone turns into reality. Imagination is severely taken for granted. If one is able to think of an idea, no matter how abstract that idea, it is possible for it to become so. Belief in the impossible is faith in something bigger than you. Without the possibility of something bigger than yourself in life, your life would seem quite dull.”
She looked up at him, “Was that the answer you wanted?” Peter leaned back in the bench with his hands behind his head.
“I have a past that’s quite hard to believe. That one would truly consider impossible. I have never wanted to let go of it, because in that time, I learned what it was like to be part of something bigger than myself; something worthwhile. I’ll admit my attempt to live in that past glory has prevented me from trying to live a wonderful life now. I was afraid that by moving on, I’d lose the magnificence of what my life had been. But I realize now that there are different kinds of wonderful and though they made not be the same, they can be equal.”
Emma looked down, “That’s quite insightful of you. How does this affect us?” Once again Peter took her hands in his own and led her to stand up.
“I have been guarded, especially against you, because I was afraid that I couldn’t be who I thought I should be. You are one of those other kinds of wonderful that I didn’t understand. As a matter of fact, you’re brilliant. There’s so much about me that I would like you to know, that would explain so much. I just can’t yet.”
For a long time Emma was silent, finally she looked up at him tenderly. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m perfectly content with who you are Peter Pevensie. Please remember that.”
Peter placed a finger under her chin, tipping her face up towards him. Swiftly he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss that caused a shiver to go through her entire body. She wrapped her arms around her neck, centering herself to him. As he pulled back, he couldn’t hide his grin and the jubilation etched on his face and for the first time, he appeared as the High King in England.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she whispered.
“You,” he answered kissing her forehead, “they’re all you.”
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Date: 2010-12-30 02:42 am (UTC)Thank you so much for writing this story for me! You did a great job with your Edmund voice and I love how Peter is totally the protective older brother.
His reaction to threats against Susan's virtue is just priceless!
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Date: 2011-01-01 02:04 pm (UTC)Penny for your Thoughts was so sweet. Oh Peter. The last line was fluffly and delightful! I so enjoy reading stories where they find good things in Spare Oom too!
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Date: 2011-01-04 05:54 am (UTC)~Red
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Date: 2011-01-11 04:14 pm (UTC)