[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 1/14
Dec. 31st, 2010 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Along the Midnight Edge
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER ONE -- Ages and Ages, Returning at Intervals]
Was it night-time? Edmund wasn’t sure. He was wide awake and though his head felt full and light, his mind was clear and sharp. In a way it was not unlike the state of precariously balancing on the edge of drunkenness, when one’s veins are filled with champagne bubbles and the lips are sticky-sweet with it, but the alcohol has not yet brought sleepiness or stupor.
The land was so much brighter than he was used to. So much more detailed. Everything had a story here, not just the trees and buildings, but the stones and flowers, too. He relished the ability to see every blade of grass in the vast field, for each had something to set it apart and though it should be overwhelming, it all connected, somehow, into the bigger picture, and the picture was one he would never tire of seeing.
It was growing dark now -- there had to be a sunset, but he found he couldn’t remember, even when the sky was lined with colours, from horizon to horizon. Some of them reflected in the pools of water, some lent their hue to the grounds and stones and trees. Edmund traced the edge of the stone that marked the end of the sill he was sitting on, a stone that should be grey, but was orange instead, in the hopes of catching a stray ray of sunshine between his fingertips.
“Are you trying to fall?”
Edmund turned and found that Caspian was watching him through half-lidded eyes, and if everything about this world beyond was blinding in its glory, Caspian was even more so. He’d always been handsome, but now Edmund found him outshining every woman and every man he had ever found attractive.
“Aren’t you trying to stop me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So you are saying it won’t matter?” Edmund stood, a little unsteadily, for there had been wine and he had discovered that the drinks of heaven caused just as much light-headedness as those in the Shadowlands. Perhaps more. He moved to the very edge and peered down. Vertigo had never been a problem for him, so it was no effort to stand on the very edge with his arms spread, thoroughly drunk on the emotion and the land spread out before him, familiar and alien.
They were sitting on the high tower of Cair Paravel, of what the castle had been in the days of his glory and all that was good about it since. The highest tower, which Edmund remembered so well from his reign, here stood as tall as the highest mountain he had ever climbed and even so he could see the grass underneath, the daisy-like flowers with golden hearts and silk-soft white petals that had bloomed there ever since their reign. He wondered what it would be like to take the step and plummet into the depth, what did this strange place make of gravity and physics.
They were so high up, perched on the wall, they could almost see the next great mountain, in the distance. The sky shone with colours he had never before seen, he was sure of it. If he were a painter, perhaps, or into hallucinogenic substances, then perhaps the view would be more familiar to him, even though he felt he could call all the trees he saw with the names of the hamadryads that had once inhabited them.
He turned his back to the ravine and looked at Caspian, whose eyes never left him. “How long has it been?” he asked quietly, as he took in the hunger and attention with which Caspian regarded him. There was no bitterness or melancholy in his gaze, as it would be hard to reconcile those with the beauty of Aslan’s country. Still, the yearning was plain.
“Over forty years, since you left. Then, I couldn’t tell. It might have been a day, or a thousand years. I think I slept through most of it.”
“I’m told it’s been two hundred years since your death.”
“I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“You’ve spent all this time here and yet you did not think to enquire what would happen if I cast myself off this ledge?”
“How could I?” Caspian bent to the floor to procure more wine. “I could tell you what happens when I do it, though.”
Edmund laughed and sat down opposite Caspian. There was so little space that when he straightened his legs in front of him, as much as he could, his knee brushed against Caspian’s thigh, and even though they were clothed, the warmth seeped through the fabric of their trousers. For the first time in forever, it seemed, Edmund felt full.
“It was much less for me,” he said, averting his eyes from Caspian’s. He shouldn’t feel grateful, he supposed, that his life was cut short so brutally, but how could he not, when the future laid out in front of him contained, at best, dozens of years of waking each morning to the feeling of hollowness.
Caspian leaned across their legs to flick at his hair. Edmund closed his eyes and felt the warm fingers ghost over his forehead, as though Caspian was trying to brush the thoughts out of his mind. Though rationally a lifetime of handling swords and ropes should have left his hands calloused, the skin was delicate and soft and so Edmund let him.
The feather-light touch upon his forehead was hypnotic and they were both falling in some kind of trance. Edmund stared at the colours that the not-sunset painted across Caspian’s skin, wishing very much to reach out the touch the ridge of his brow and smooth the fearful longing which wasn’t there and yet somehow was. He wished and he resisted, because he knew there would be time to do so, that they would have time to learn and study each other, and this moment was worthy of savouring as it was. This was a novelty for them both: for the first time since their conversation atop a very similar tower they were without fear that the new day would bring separation and solitude. The knowledge was heady -- it had been exciting to find in Caspian a kindred spirit, when Edmund had so few real friends outside of his family, it had been exhilarating to feel the press of lips against his and know his feelings were returned, but how could any of that match up to what he was feeling now, when the bitter threat of parting was taken away?
Caspian’s hand slipped off his face and Edmund caught it. He said nothing, for in truth he wasn’t certain he could speak, even if he had the words. The stone was warm against his back. Caspian’s hand, clutched in his, was as real as the beating of his own heart. He felt liberated, as weightless and free as if he had taken the leap off a highest tower, when nothing existed but the joy of flight.
They sat there from sunset to sunrise, without uttering a word, without the need for sleep, or food, or drink. They watched the worlds dance before them and they breathed. It was enough just to sit close to one another; Edmund was certain he would have gladly spent eternity there, but for the one treacherous thought that wormed its way into his mind and wouldn’t leave.
He let himself hear it and laughed.
“I have just thought, how much ridicule would I direct at myself, back in England.”
“Why?”
Edmund rubbed his thumb against the back of Caspian’s hand, where he remembered there had been a scar, just a nick from a knife. There was nothing there now, no mark, just smooth, unblemished skin. “This. The romance of it. Such grandeur!” But it was a soft, not mocking, laugh that escaped him then.
“As I recall you were not above the romance when we were hiding in the crow’s nest of the Dawn Treader.”
“The folly of my teenage years,” Edmund said. He moved so that he and Caspian were sitting side by side.
“What is it that you object to, exactly? Is it my presence, or is it the romance?”
“I see you are every bit the hot-headed fool you’ve always been.”
“I cultivated my personality in the hopes of not disappointing you. If therefore I must be an ass, to have you smile at me, so shall it be.” Caspian looked at Edmund solemnly, in a voice which would leave a man no doubt as to the gravity of his confession.
“An ass prone to hyperbole. Let it never be said my taste is lacking.” It was odd how little Edmund’s spine protested when he let himself slide down the wall until his head was level with Caspian’s shoulder and his feet were propped on the stone opposite. His cheek brushed against the material of Caspian’s shirt and with every move of the air he was drowning in the salty, oceanic wind and Caspian’s scent. “It’s so quiet,” he said dreamily, for with the memory of the ocean came the expectation of waves crashing and the wind howling.
“It is always so. Whenever you desire quiet, the most you need to do is to walk away from your companions.”
“I wonder if we shall be missed. How long have we been away?”
“I do not know,” Caspian said, and Edmund didn’t think to contest his claim, though the sky was turning a myriad shades of pink and blue, a sure sign that the day was ready to return. “The time passes freely here, or perhaps not at all, and no one seems to mind.”
There was wistful note in his voice. Edmund saw that Caspian was gazing down at him. “I have missed you. There weren’t many people that knew, by some miracle, but I’ve been often told that it was the sea’s doing, that it would pass, as all infatuations must. The one time I dared to confess the truth of it, I was told it must eventually fade and become a fond memory.”
“It never did,” Edmund said for him. “I think I know.” The memories of Caspian never faded, somehow. Though all of Narnia was but a pale shadow in his mind as he lived in England, every time he closed his eyes he would find Caspian’s face gazing at him solemnly. It had been unbearable to even visit Hastings; the smell of the sea brought tears to his eyes. “It was mere months after my return when Eustace told me you died. I thought for sure that would at least alleviate the yearning.”
“Even in death I thought it too much to bear, though in this place one cannot despair.”
Edmund stared at the sky. “I wondered often, are we insane?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It seems like foolery.”
“Kings often are fools, when they lose the kingdoms.”
“Oh, that silences the last of my complaints.”
“The miracle! I shall run forth and make the announcements throughout the land.”
They fell silent. The day was dawning and still there was not a hint of tiredness. There was no need for sleep, Edmund concluded eventually. Their bodies wouldn’t tire or require rest, no matter how far they ran or how long they travelled. There was no hunger, no pain and no cold; there was no boredom and no weariness. They could have spent the rest of forever atop the tower and never want for anything more.
Inevitably, however, they wandered down the tower. The memory of life was still strong enough in them both, or perhaps it was that the vision of what could have been that drove them to explore the castle. Inevitably, they found for themselves an unoccupied room, though how could it be unoccupied, Edmund thought, when this was the place where countless people had come here before him, and countless more had yet to arrive.
Edmund worried about the turns his mind took, sometimes. It was particularly worrisome that he found himself alone, in a bedroom, with Caspian, and yet he could find no subject as worthy of consideration as that of the availability of lodgings. To be fair, that only lasted until the doors closed and they each took half a step into a kiss that very nearly threatened to reduce the universe outside to an inconvenient background.
He remembered vividly the kisses they shared on the Dawn Treader, and they were fevered and desperate, as though they both expected Aslan to step out of thin air to tear them apart. They did not care if there was perhaps too much anger and fear in it, if Caspian’s beard left red marks on Edmund’s skin; whether they fumbled, whether the intention matched the outcome. Any contact at all, whether it was cheek, or mouth or hair, was enough, was good; there was no time to fuss, to worry. It was not so now.
Edmund was eventually forced to attribute the difference to heaven’s influence, for the gist of it, the passion and the frantic need to be free of clothing and pressed against one another as tightly as the physicality of their bodies would allow, that remained unchanged. There was no desperation, however. Though his body ached for Caspian and his heart trembled at the thought, he was at the centre calm and patient, for his every sense was already appeased. They were together and there was no way to ever set them apart.
It was done, he thought unexpectedly, as a fierce kiss stole the breath from his lips and the strong hands wrapped around him. Something inexplicable had passed through his consciousness and he knew Caspian had known it too, for he paused and they stared at one another.
Finally, Caspian broke into a smile, first a wide grin that would have been devious, were it not for the softness of his gaze, but which quickly dissolved into a soft quirk of lips, delicate like a kiss, warm like the afternoon sun. Surely there would be jeers and jests, were they to venture outside, with such an expression -- which Edmund assumed graced his features, as well -- upon their faces.
Here was the romance again, Edmund thought, tangling his hands in Caspian’s hair. The light, which bore on it a multitude of colours while still being white, caught in the strand and he couldn’t help but stare.
“You’ve grown,” Caspian said.
“I’ve died.”
“I meant that you are older than you were on the ship.”
“Not by much.” Edmund barely managed to stifle the giggle Caspian drew from him, by brushing his finger’s against Edmund’s ribs. “I feel like I’m no longer confused about my age, at least.”
“Did that often happen?”
“I had been twenty and five when I departed Narnia the first time, to become a ten year old boy again. Try and imagine the confusion.”
“By your leave, I shall leave the exercise for later.”
“Be my guest,” Edmund said, before he drowned all thought, rational or otherwise, in Caspian.
*****
It was quite the peculiar feeling, this bone-deep calm that followed exertion and yet had nothing to do with tiredness. He was tired, he supposed. He must have been. Yet if he were asked he would have risen and ran for hours, Edmund traced the contours of the ceiling with his gaze, as his fingers traced patterns into Caspian’s scalp, and that in itself was a dance, measured by the breaths tickling his neck.
He found he could call upon tiredness to chase away the brilliantly white sunshine from his eyes -- perhaps this was what Caspian meant when he said he had slept for the whole time since his death -- sleep was not far away, should one wish for it, and it only needed to be called, though it was no longer needed. It was different, too. There were no dreams, for what purpose was there in dreaming when you were in the place where your fondest wishes had already come true?
And yet… Edmund shot up, breathing harshly, woken from the lull by something as elusive as mist on a spring morning. His heart was beating wildly, and his hands shook, but he felt no fright nor alarm, nor even a hint of wrongness that permeated the nightmares.
“Edmund?”
That at least explained the uncontrollable beating of his heart. Caspian was at his side, naked and warm. His fingers were rubbing circles into the base of Edmund’s spine.
“Sorry. Were you asleep?”
“No. I was making sure you wouldn’t disappear by morning.”
“A useful vigil then.”
“It wasn’t without merits.” Caspian smiled at him. The corner of his mouth curved just so and Edmund found himself tracing the outline of it, committing the shape to memory with touch as well as sight. How could it be, he thought, that his whole existence, his very being, could be so narrow as to fit within the curve of Caspian’s smile? How was it possible to love one person so, how was it possible that he should love one person like this?
He wondered how long it could last.
Certainly, he missed Caspian, every hour of every day, though to be fair he only realised that when he saw him again, and the hollow in his heart was finally remedied. He relished the thought of them being together, he relished every moment, but still in the back of his mind there was the fear. No, it couldn’t have been fear, as there was no fear away from the Shadowlands, but there was the dreadful feeling that such utter bliss couldn’t possibly last forever.
“You seem worried,” Caspian said, throwing an arm around Edmund’s waist. He sounded surprised.
Edmund bent his head, so that his forehead rested against Caspian’s hair. Those feelings were fleeting, none managed to hold onto his mind for long. It was only when he drifted on the edge of waking that he had them, intangible and formless. “Not really.”
He wasn’t. Not really. Because though he couldn’t fully dispel the idea of fear, he knew, with the same certainty he knew he existed, that this was irreversible.
Caspian pulled him closer still and Edmund forgot all the misgivings he had to entertain. When they were this close he could forget his own name, because it was certainly of no use, when they were alone.
There was a brief tussle, but Edmund found himself victorious, lying on top of Caspian across the unholy mess of tangled sheets and inexplicable articles of clothing strewn through them. “I did think we were better at getting undressed in an orderly fashion.”
“There was very little time to spare.”
Edmund laughed, an incautious move to say the least, as Caspian rolled them over to the very edge of the bed and stopped there, grinning. Edmund grinned right back, even as he let his hands trail down Caspian’s sides.
Then the door opened with a great deal of energy.
“Oh for crying out loud,” Peter said, and the expression on his face, which was both scandalised and managing to verge on anger, caused both Edmund and Caspian to giggle like little girls. Unfortunately, the uncontrollable laughter sent them both sliding off the bed, into a tangled heap.
“Pete, could I persuade you to knock next time?” Edmund asked as extricated himself from the mess and sat up.
“I was given strict orders not to return without having found you.”
“I still say you should have knocked.” It should have been horribly awkward, having this conversation with Peter, when Caspian was grinning up at him and pressing kisses against his naked thigh. It wasn’t. “Since when do you take orders, anyway?”
“Since it is Mother who wishes to see you.”
Caspian deigned to show himself over the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you a touch old to be led about by your mother?”
“I have nothing whatsoever to say to you,” Peter said.
“That wounds me. Aren’t we family now?”
“Aren’t you a little old to be seducing my little brother, you fiend?”
Edmund swallowed first indignation and then laughter. Caspian pulled himself off the floor, still wrapped in the sheet and hopped over the bed to stand face to face with Peter. “A fiend? Is that the best you can do?”
“That’s the best you can get.”
“I rather think I ought to be wounded.”
“You can do whatever you will, it is of no concern to me,” Peter was saying, as Edmund eyed the window. Getting dressed was the work of a moment and the parapet just outside was wide enough to allow a leisurely walk, and if this was Cair Paravel, then right around the corner there would be a walkway, a full storey higher than the ledge, but the stones were easy to climb. He had escaped a great many lectures that way, back during the Golden Age of Narnia.
Right by the door Caspian and Peter were staring each other down and coming up with new and inventive curses. Rolling his eyes, Edmund scaled the window. It was just as he remembered -- the parapet was smooth from the rain and wind, but it was wide enough to allow for a comfortable walk.
The walkway, built of grey, rough blocks, would be inaccessible to most, as there was at least twelve feet worth of a vertical climb between its edge and the parapet. Edmund, however, as a child had found that the gaps between the stones allowed for a good grip and resting place for the feet. Over time, he’d build up enough strength in his hands to pull himself up by his fingertips, if necessary, and that was in a world that obeyed the laws of physics. Now it was merely a question of putting his mind to it. The stones gave support, and within seconds he was throwing his legs over the ledge the protected the passers-by from falling off.
In the back of his mind he heard a crude curse, one most unsuitable for use by a king, and he snickered to himself. Caspian had certainly worked on his vocabulary.
From the walkway he made his way to the gates of the castle, only to find Lucy and his parents there, absorbed in a conversation which dwindled as soon as they saw him.
“Edmund!” Mother cried, rushing forth to embrace him. “Where have you been? It’s been such a long time and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I apologise. There were friends I needed to see, friends I haven’t seen in a long time.”
Behind Mother’s back Lucy was smiling uncontrollably, and her face was as bright as the sun.
“Peter went to look for you, have you seen him?” Father asked.
“Yes, he did find me. He’s…” in the back of his mind, when he devoted some attention to it, he felt Caspian laugh and repeat words Edmund recalled as the staple of the dwarven fish merchants of Beruna, a thoroughly strange kind of dwarves. “He should be back soon. He got into a discussion.” About the prowess of ancestors, if Caspian’s reply was any indication. Edmund very nearly laughed. “Have you seen Beruna yet?” he said instead. “I died there once, in a battle.”
“Edmund!” Lucy cried, thoroughly scandalised. “You did not die!”
“It was the closest to death in battle I have ever come. I should be allowed to embellish the truth a little, sister.”
“Lucy was telling us you have been a king of the realm,” Father said, and thankfully his passion for war history was so strong he would forego visiting a lived-in castle when he could visit the site of an ancient battle instead.
“Indeed I was. Insofar as one could be king whenever Peter was also enthroned,” he told his parents, while to Lucy he whispered “If you would, distract Caspian for some time.”
“Why?”
“Because his fight with Peter must end sometime, as I suspect there is a limited number of insults he could have learned in the time he lived.”
“I wouldn’t wager my money on that, and anyway, that’s not what I was asking,” Lucy said under her breath, but out loud she proclaimed she would wait for Peter and join them shortly. Edmund was glad to see her go, though he couldn’t fully explain why. Surely nothing bad would come out of introducing Caspian to his parents? How could it?
“This battle,” Father said meanwhile, as they started to walk. “Why was it fought?”
Edmund told the tale, glossing over the details, perhaps, because there was no need to dwell on the past.
“But you were so young then,” Mother said. “How could you have been in a battle?”
“I’ve been in many battles,” Edmund said. “The time here is so fluent. You wondered why we were so changed when we returned home from the Digory’s house.”
“It was hard not to.”
Though the distance between Cair Paravel and Beruna was substantial, they crossed the land in a few minutes or an hour, and found themselves before a vast field that brimmed with the excitement of a great battle, that thrummed with the buzz of a city. A talking fox was curled up on a sun-warmed rock. His ears flicked from time to time and Edmund was reminded of another fox and a dinner party. The times and places merged, and Edmund found himself staring through the history of Narnia. He was aware of answering questions, but these were inconsequential, tedious details, like numbers and command and tactics. He could answer them in his sleep.
“Peter,” Father said meanwhile, turning away. “Edmund tells me you have won a battle here.”
“Two battles,” Caspian said. “Good morning.”
“This is new,” Father said, extending his hand. Introductions were made, but Edmund just stared at Beruna, at what it had been and always would be.
“Are you alright?” Caspian asked, when Father started quizzing Peter on the details of the other battle. His voice was low and Edmund shivered at the sound.
“Yes. Just… remembering.”
Caspian arched a brow.
“Foxes bring bad memories,” Edmund said. “The witch turned a fox into stone when I was with her and by the time I had remembered, and tried to find him so that he could be restored, someone had broken the stone into pieces.” It was strange, how little emotion the tale carried now. It was just a dry fact, history that was.
Caspian looked across the field, to where the fox was still dozing upon the stone. “You are remarkable, did you know that?” he said, brushing his lips against Edmund’s temple. “That you would search for that which makes you sad in Aslan’s country.”
“I wasn’t exactly searching,” Edmund said, tilting his head to reciprocate the kiss. “It just happened.”
Too late he realised that his parents were still there, and for some reason he hadn’t wanted this to happen. It was hard to remember why. Mother was staring at them with some surprise on her face, but that quickly dissolved into confusion and then a soft smile. There was a kind of peace in her face, a peace that meant that there would be no investigation, not even an inquiry, for which Edmund was grateful.
He caught Peter’s eye and shrugged, in response to an unspecified question. Caspian’s hand was warm against his side, the air was clear and fresh and before his eyes the land brimmed with light and happiness.
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER ONE -- Ages and Ages, Returning at Intervals]
Was it night-time? Edmund wasn’t sure. He was wide awake and though his head felt full and light, his mind was clear and sharp. In a way it was not unlike the state of precariously balancing on the edge of drunkenness, when one’s veins are filled with champagne bubbles and the lips are sticky-sweet with it, but the alcohol has not yet brought sleepiness or stupor.
The land was so much brighter than he was used to. So much more detailed. Everything had a story here, not just the trees and buildings, but the stones and flowers, too. He relished the ability to see every blade of grass in the vast field, for each had something to set it apart and though it should be overwhelming, it all connected, somehow, into the bigger picture, and the picture was one he would never tire of seeing.
It was growing dark now -- there had to be a sunset, but he found he couldn’t remember, even when the sky was lined with colours, from horizon to horizon. Some of them reflected in the pools of water, some lent their hue to the grounds and stones and trees. Edmund traced the edge of the stone that marked the end of the sill he was sitting on, a stone that should be grey, but was orange instead, in the hopes of catching a stray ray of sunshine between his fingertips.
“Are you trying to fall?”
Edmund turned and found that Caspian was watching him through half-lidded eyes, and if everything about this world beyond was blinding in its glory, Caspian was even more so. He’d always been handsome, but now Edmund found him outshining every woman and every man he had ever found attractive.
“Aren’t you trying to stop me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So you are saying it won’t matter?” Edmund stood, a little unsteadily, for there had been wine and he had discovered that the drinks of heaven caused just as much light-headedness as those in the Shadowlands. Perhaps more. He moved to the very edge and peered down. Vertigo had never been a problem for him, so it was no effort to stand on the very edge with his arms spread, thoroughly drunk on the emotion and the land spread out before him, familiar and alien.
They were sitting on the high tower of Cair Paravel, of what the castle had been in the days of his glory and all that was good about it since. The highest tower, which Edmund remembered so well from his reign, here stood as tall as the highest mountain he had ever climbed and even so he could see the grass underneath, the daisy-like flowers with golden hearts and silk-soft white petals that had bloomed there ever since their reign. He wondered what it would be like to take the step and plummet into the depth, what did this strange place make of gravity and physics.
They were so high up, perched on the wall, they could almost see the next great mountain, in the distance. The sky shone with colours he had never before seen, he was sure of it. If he were a painter, perhaps, or into hallucinogenic substances, then perhaps the view would be more familiar to him, even though he felt he could call all the trees he saw with the names of the hamadryads that had once inhabited them.
He turned his back to the ravine and looked at Caspian, whose eyes never left him. “How long has it been?” he asked quietly, as he took in the hunger and attention with which Caspian regarded him. There was no bitterness or melancholy in his gaze, as it would be hard to reconcile those with the beauty of Aslan’s country. Still, the yearning was plain.
“Over forty years, since you left. Then, I couldn’t tell. It might have been a day, or a thousand years. I think I slept through most of it.”
“I’m told it’s been two hundred years since your death.”
“I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“You’ve spent all this time here and yet you did not think to enquire what would happen if I cast myself off this ledge?”
“How could I?” Caspian bent to the floor to procure more wine. “I could tell you what happens when I do it, though.”
Edmund laughed and sat down opposite Caspian. There was so little space that when he straightened his legs in front of him, as much as he could, his knee brushed against Caspian’s thigh, and even though they were clothed, the warmth seeped through the fabric of their trousers. For the first time in forever, it seemed, Edmund felt full.
“It was much less for me,” he said, averting his eyes from Caspian’s. He shouldn’t feel grateful, he supposed, that his life was cut short so brutally, but how could he not, when the future laid out in front of him contained, at best, dozens of years of waking each morning to the feeling of hollowness.
Caspian leaned across their legs to flick at his hair. Edmund closed his eyes and felt the warm fingers ghost over his forehead, as though Caspian was trying to brush the thoughts out of his mind. Though rationally a lifetime of handling swords and ropes should have left his hands calloused, the skin was delicate and soft and so Edmund let him.
The feather-light touch upon his forehead was hypnotic and they were both falling in some kind of trance. Edmund stared at the colours that the not-sunset painted across Caspian’s skin, wishing very much to reach out the touch the ridge of his brow and smooth the fearful longing which wasn’t there and yet somehow was. He wished and he resisted, because he knew there would be time to do so, that they would have time to learn and study each other, and this moment was worthy of savouring as it was. This was a novelty for them both: for the first time since their conversation atop a very similar tower they were without fear that the new day would bring separation and solitude. The knowledge was heady -- it had been exciting to find in Caspian a kindred spirit, when Edmund had so few real friends outside of his family, it had been exhilarating to feel the press of lips against his and know his feelings were returned, but how could any of that match up to what he was feeling now, when the bitter threat of parting was taken away?
Caspian’s hand slipped off his face and Edmund caught it. He said nothing, for in truth he wasn’t certain he could speak, even if he had the words. The stone was warm against his back. Caspian’s hand, clutched in his, was as real as the beating of his own heart. He felt liberated, as weightless and free as if he had taken the leap off a highest tower, when nothing existed but the joy of flight.
They sat there from sunset to sunrise, without uttering a word, without the need for sleep, or food, or drink. They watched the worlds dance before them and they breathed. It was enough just to sit close to one another; Edmund was certain he would have gladly spent eternity there, but for the one treacherous thought that wormed its way into his mind and wouldn’t leave.
He let himself hear it and laughed.
“I have just thought, how much ridicule would I direct at myself, back in England.”
“Why?”
Edmund rubbed his thumb against the back of Caspian’s hand, where he remembered there had been a scar, just a nick from a knife. There was nothing there now, no mark, just smooth, unblemished skin. “This. The romance of it. Such grandeur!” But it was a soft, not mocking, laugh that escaped him then.
“As I recall you were not above the romance when we were hiding in the crow’s nest of the Dawn Treader.”
“The folly of my teenage years,” Edmund said. He moved so that he and Caspian were sitting side by side.
“What is it that you object to, exactly? Is it my presence, or is it the romance?”
“I see you are every bit the hot-headed fool you’ve always been.”
“I cultivated my personality in the hopes of not disappointing you. If therefore I must be an ass, to have you smile at me, so shall it be.” Caspian looked at Edmund solemnly, in a voice which would leave a man no doubt as to the gravity of his confession.
“An ass prone to hyperbole. Let it never be said my taste is lacking.” It was odd how little Edmund’s spine protested when he let himself slide down the wall until his head was level with Caspian’s shoulder and his feet were propped on the stone opposite. His cheek brushed against the material of Caspian’s shirt and with every move of the air he was drowning in the salty, oceanic wind and Caspian’s scent. “It’s so quiet,” he said dreamily, for with the memory of the ocean came the expectation of waves crashing and the wind howling.
“It is always so. Whenever you desire quiet, the most you need to do is to walk away from your companions.”
“I wonder if we shall be missed. How long have we been away?”
“I do not know,” Caspian said, and Edmund didn’t think to contest his claim, though the sky was turning a myriad shades of pink and blue, a sure sign that the day was ready to return. “The time passes freely here, or perhaps not at all, and no one seems to mind.”
There was wistful note in his voice. Edmund saw that Caspian was gazing down at him. “I have missed you. There weren’t many people that knew, by some miracle, but I’ve been often told that it was the sea’s doing, that it would pass, as all infatuations must. The one time I dared to confess the truth of it, I was told it must eventually fade and become a fond memory.”
“It never did,” Edmund said for him. “I think I know.” The memories of Caspian never faded, somehow. Though all of Narnia was but a pale shadow in his mind as he lived in England, every time he closed his eyes he would find Caspian’s face gazing at him solemnly. It had been unbearable to even visit Hastings; the smell of the sea brought tears to his eyes. “It was mere months after my return when Eustace told me you died. I thought for sure that would at least alleviate the yearning.”
“Even in death I thought it too much to bear, though in this place one cannot despair.”
Edmund stared at the sky. “I wondered often, are we insane?”
“Why would you think that?”
“It seems like foolery.”
“Kings often are fools, when they lose the kingdoms.”
“Oh, that silences the last of my complaints.”
“The miracle! I shall run forth and make the announcements throughout the land.”
They fell silent. The day was dawning and still there was not a hint of tiredness. There was no need for sleep, Edmund concluded eventually. Their bodies wouldn’t tire or require rest, no matter how far they ran or how long they travelled. There was no hunger, no pain and no cold; there was no boredom and no weariness. They could have spent the rest of forever atop the tower and never want for anything more.
Inevitably, however, they wandered down the tower. The memory of life was still strong enough in them both, or perhaps it was that the vision of what could have been that drove them to explore the castle. Inevitably, they found for themselves an unoccupied room, though how could it be unoccupied, Edmund thought, when this was the place where countless people had come here before him, and countless more had yet to arrive.
Edmund worried about the turns his mind took, sometimes. It was particularly worrisome that he found himself alone, in a bedroom, with Caspian, and yet he could find no subject as worthy of consideration as that of the availability of lodgings. To be fair, that only lasted until the doors closed and they each took half a step into a kiss that very nearly threatened to reduce the universe outside to an inconvenient background.
He remembered vividly the kisses they shared on the Dawn Treader, and they were fevered and desperate, as though they both expected Aslan to step out of thin air to tear them apart. They did not care if there was perhaps too much anger and fear in it, if Caspian’s beard left red marks on Edmund’s skin; whether they fumbled, whether the intention matched the outcome. Any contact at all, whether it was cheek, or mouth or hair, was enough, was good; there was no time to fuss, to worry. It was not so now.
Edmund was eventually forced to attribute the difference to heaven’s influence, for the gist of it, the passion and the frantic need to be free of clothing and pressed against one another as tightly as the physicality of their bodies would allow, that remained unchanged. There was no desperation, however. Though his body ached for Caspian and his heart trembled at the thought, he was at the centre calm and patient, for his every sense was already appeased. They were together and there was no way to ever set them apart.
It was done, he thought unexpectedly, as a fierce kiss stole the breath from his lips and the strong hands wrapped around him. Something inexplicable had passed through his consciousness and he knew Caspian had known it too, for he paused and they stared at one another.
Finally, Caspian broke into a smile, first a wide grin that would have been devious, were it not for the softness of his gaze, but which quickly dissolved into a soft quirk of lips, delicate like a kiss, warm like the afternoon sun. Surely there would be jeers and jests, were they to venture outside, with such an expression -- which Edmund assumed graced his features, as well -- upon their faces.
Here was the romance again, Edmund thought, tangling his hands in Caspian’s hair. The light, which bore on it a multitude of colours while still being white, caught in the strand and he couldn’t help but stare.
“You’ve grown,” Caspian said.
“I’ve died.”
“I meant that you are older than you were on the ship.”
“Not by much.” Edmund barely managed to stifle the giggle Caspian drew from him, by brushing his finger’s against Edmund’s ribs. “I feel like I’m no longer confused about my age, at least.”
“Did that often happen?”
“I had been twenty and five when I departed Narnia the first time, to become a ten year old boy again. Try and imagine the confusion.”
“By your leave, I shall leave the exercise for later.”
“Be my guest,” Edmund said, before he drowned all thought, rational or otherwise, in Caspian.
*****
It was quite the peculiar feeling, this bone-deep calm that followed exertion and yet had nothing to do with tiredness. He was tired, he supposed. He must have been. Yet if he were asked he would have risen and ran for hours, Edmund traced the contours of the ceiling with his gaze, as his fingers traced patterns into Caspian’s scalp, and that in itself was a dance, measured by the breaths tickling his neck.
He found he could call upon tiredness to chase away the brilliantly white sunshine from his eyes -- perhaps this was what Caspian meant when he said he had slept for the whole time since his death -- sleep was not far away, should one wish for it, and it only needed to be called, though it was no longer needed. It was different, too. There were no dreams, for what purpose was there in dreaming when you were in the place where your fondest wishes had already come true?
And yet… Edmund shot up, breathing harshly, woken from the lull by something as elusive as mist on a spring morning. His heart was beating wildly, and his hands shook, but he felt no fright nor alarm, nor even a hint of wrongness that permeated the nightmares.
“Edmund?”
That at least explained the uncontrollable beating of his heart. Caspian was at his side, naked and warm. His fingers were rubbing circles into the base of Edmund’s spine.
“Sorry. Were you asleep?”
“No. I was making sure you wouldn’t disappear by morning.”
“A useful vigil then.”
“It wasn’t without merits.” Caspian smiled at him. The corner of his mouth curved just so and Edmund found himself tracing the outline of it, committing the shape to memory with touch as well as sight. How could it be, he thought, that his whole existence, his very being, could be so narrow as to fit within the curve of Caspian’s smile? How was it possible to love one person so, how was it possible that he should love one person like this?
He wondered how long it could last.
Certainly, he missed Caspian, every hour of every day, though to be fair he only realised that when he saw him again, and the hollow in his heart was finally remedied. He relished the thought of them being together, he relished every moment, but still in the back of his mind there was the fear. No, it couldn’t have been fear, as there was no fear away from the Shadowlands, but there was the dreadful feeling that such utter bliss couldn’t possibly last forever.
“You seem worried,” Caspian said, throwing an arm around Edmund’s waist. He sounded surprised.
Edmund bent his head, so that his forehead rested against Caspian’s hair. Those feelings were fleeting, none managed to hold onto his mind for long. It was only when he drifted on the edge of waking that he had them, intangible and formless. “Not really.”
He wasn’t. Not really. Because though he couldn’t fully dispel the idea of fear, he knew, with the same certainty he knew he existed, that this was irreversible.
Caspian pulled him closer still and Edmund forgot all the misgivings he had to entertain. When they were this close he could forget his own name, because it was certainly of no use, when they were alone.
There was a brief tussle, but Edmund found himself victorious, lying on top of Caspian across the unholy mess of tangled sheets and inexplicable articles of clothing strewn through them. “I did think we were better at getting undressed in an orderly fashion.”
“There was very little time to spare.”
Edmund laughed, an incautious move to say the least, as Caspian rolled them over to the very edge of the bed and stopped there, grinning. Edmund grinned right back, even as he let his hands trail down Caspian’s sides.
Then the door opened with a great deal of energy.
“Oh for crying out loud,” Peter said, and the expression on his face, which was both scandalised and managing to verge on anger, caused both Edmund and Caspian to giggle like little girls. Unfortunately, the uncontrollable laughter sent them both sliding off the bed, into a tangled heap.
“Pete, could I persuade you to knock next time?” Edmund asked as extricated himself from the mess and sat up.
“I was given strict orders not to return without having found you.”
“I still say you should have knocked.” It should have been horribly awkward, having this conversation with Peter, when Caspian was grinning up at him and pressing kisses against his naked thigh. It wasn’t. “Since when do you take orders, anyway?”
“Since it is Mother who wishes to see you.”
Caspian deigned to show himself over the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you a touch old to be led about by your mother?”
“I have nothing whatsoever to say to you,” Peter said.
“That wounds me. Aren’t we family now?”
“Aren’t you a little old to be seducing my little brother, you fiend?”
Edmund swallowed first indignation and then laughter. Caspian pulled himself off the floor, still wrapped in the sheet and hopped over the bed to stand face to face with Peter. “A fiend? Is that the best you can do?”
“That’s the best you can get.”
“I rather think I ought to be wounded.”
“You can do whatever you will, it is of no concern to me,” Peter was saying, as Edmund eyed the window. Getting dressed was the work of a moment and the parapet just outside was wide enough to allow a leisurely walk, and if this was Cair Paravel, then right around the corner there would be a walkway, a full storey higher than the ledge, but the stones were easy to climb. He had escaped a great many lectures that way, back during the Golden Age of Narnia.
Right by the door Caspian and Peter were staring each other down and coming up with new and inventive curses. Rolling his eyes, Edmund scaled the window. It was just as he remembered -- the parapet was smooth from the rain and wind, but it was wide enough to allow for a comfortable walk.
The walkway, built of grey, rough blocks, would be inaccessible to most, as there was at least twelve feet worth of a vertical climb between its edge and the parapet. Edmund, however, as a child had found that the gaps between the stones allowed for a good grip and resting place for the feet. Over time, he’d build up enough strength in his hands to pull himself up by his fingertips, if necessary, and that was in a world that obeyed the laws of physics. Now it was merely a question of putting his mind to it. The stones gave support, and within seconds he was throwing his legs over the ledge the protected the passers-by from falling off.
In the back of his mind he heard a crude curse, one most unsuitable for use by a king, and he snickered to himself. Caspian had certainly worked on his vocabulary.
From the walkway he made his way to the gates of the castle, only to find Lucy and his parents there, absorbed in a conversation which dwindled as soon as they saw him.
“Edmund!” Mother cried, rushing forth to embrace him. “Where have you been? It’s been such a long time and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I apologise. There were friends I needed to see, friends I haven’t seen in a long time.”
Behind Mother’s back Lucy was smiling uncontrollably, and her face was as bright as the sun.
“Peter went to look for you, have you seen him?” Father asked.
“Yes, he did find me. He’s…” in the back of his mind, when he devoted some attention to it, he felt Caspian laugh and repeat words Edmund recalled as the staple of the dwarven fish merchants of Beruna, a thoroughly strange kind of dwarves. “He should be back soon. He got into a discussion.” About the prowess of ancestors, if Caspian’s reply was any indication. Edmund very nearly laughed. “Have you seen Beruna yet?” he said instead. “I died there once, in a battle.”
“Edmund!” Lucy cried, thoroughly scandalised. “You did not die!”
“It was the closest to death in battle I have ever come. I should be allowed to embellish the truth a little, sister.”
“Lucy was telling us you have been a king of the realm,” Father said, and thankfully his passion for war history was so strong he would forego visiting a lived-in castle when he could visit the site of an ancient battle instead.
“Indeed I was. Insofar as one could be king whenever Peter was also enthroned,” he told his parents, while to Lucy he whispered “If you would, distract Caspian for some time.”
“Why?”
“Because his fight with Peter must end sometime, as I suspect there is a limited number of insults he could have learned in the time he lived.”
“I wouldn’t wager my money on that, and anyway, that’s not what I was asking,” Lucy said under her breath, but out loud she proclaimed she would wait for Peter and join them shortly. Edmund was glad to see her go, though he couldn’t fully explain why. Surely nothing bad would come out of introducing Caspian to his parents? How could it?
“This battle,” Father said meanwhile, as they started to walk. “Why was it fought?”
Edmund told the tale, glossing over the details, perhaps, because there was no need to dwell on the past.
“But you were so young then,” Mother said. “How could you have been in a battle?”
“I’ve been in many battles,” Edmund said. “The time here is so fluent. You wondered why we were so changed when we returned home from the Digory’s house.”
“It was hard not to.”
Though the distance between Cair Paravel and Beruna was substantial, they crossed the land in a few minutes or an hour, and found themselves before a vast field that brimmed with the excitement of a great battle, that thrummed with the buzz of a city. A talking fox was curled up on a sun-warmed rock. His ears flicked from time to time and Edmund was reminded of another fox and a dinner party. The times and places merged, and Edmund found himself staring through the history of Narnia. He was aware of answering questions, but these were inconsequential, tedious details, like numbers and command and tactics. He could answer them in his sleep.
“Peter,” Father said meanwhile, turning away. “Edmund tells me you have won a battle here.”
“Two battles,” Caspian said. “Good morning.”
“This is new,” Father said, extending his hand. Introductions were made, but Edmund just stared at Beruna, at what it had been and always would be.
“Are you alright?” Caspian asked, when Father started quizzing Peter on the details of the other battle. His voice was low and Edmund shivered at the sound.
“Yes. Just… remembering.”
Caspian arched a brow.
“Foxes bring bad memories,” Edmund said. “The witch turned a fox into stone when I was with her and by the time I had remembered, and tried to find him so that he could be restored, someone had broken the stone into pieces.” It was strange, how little emotion the tale carried now. It was just a dry fact, history that was.
Caspian looked across the field, to where the fox was still dozing upon the stone. “You are remarkable, did you know that?” he said, brushing his lips against Edmund’s temple. “That you would search for that which makes you sad in Aslan’s country.”
“I wasn’t exactly searching,” Edmund said, tilting his head to reciprocate the kiss. “It just happened.”
Too late he realised that his parents were still there, and for some reason he hadn’t wanted this to happen. It was hard to remember why. Mother was staring at them with some surprise on her face, but that quickly dissolved into confusion and then a soft smile. There was a kind of peace in her face, a peace that meant that there would be no investigation, not even an inquiry, for which Edmund was grateful.
He caught Peter’s eye and shrugged, in response to an unspecified question. Caspian’s hand was warm against his side, the air was clear and fresh and before his eyes the land brimmed with light and happiness.
