Sword
Mild Caspian/Edmund
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Caspian sat his back heavy against the large oak. Leaves swarmed above him, sheltering the young man from the night sky, the leaves and stars making a perfect shield from his troubles.
His glistening blade lay across his lap, the stars blinking against the metal. He touched the blade gently, senses jumping at the cold feel and his mind thinking in shades of red death.
A sudden and tense movement of disgust overcame Caspian as he wrenched the sword away. In the stillness of the night Caspian was allowed to hear the dewy thud of the disregarded landing and a perusing of lips nearby. Caspian simply waited for the words to follow.
"You treat a blade that way?" murmured Edmund lazily. He knelt beside Caspian, staring at him ignoring the object of his reference.
"And why should I not?" Caspian replied. "It's a bringer of death." He looked to Edmund. The youth's hair was shining on his forehead. A glee of the dance still hung around him.
"No." The reply was firm. Edmund set his hand on Caspian's shoulder. "It brings life."
The trees around them seemed to gurgle in responsive agreement like children yet unable to speak. Caspian felt wind pick up at the King of Olds' words.
Caspian shook his head. The wind deflated. "Did you not see the dead?"
"I saw the living." Edmund had a distinction of pride about him when he spoke. Caspian resented him for it. He was often, as Caspian had observed his actions in battle, like a child playing with toys.
"I see the way you fight," muttered Caspian. "You almost seem to relish in the death of the enemy. You care not for their death."
Edmund did not flinch back at this harsh attack of his morality, although he desperately wanted to voice his disgust in Caspian thinking of him as cruel. He struggled to not begin arguing with Caspian and tried to act like his brother, Peter – calm and fair. His displeasure in Caspian thinking of his actions this way soon vanished when he saw the confusion in his eyes. Caspian was not looking to reprimand, only to be counselled.
Edmund now frowned, hoping to Aslan he could fix Caspian's worries. "They were the enemy."
"They were still people."
"The death of one at your sword brings the life of one Narnian." Edmund had managed to recapture Caspian's fleeting glance. "One gone means one more to live."
"I want to remove myself from the death I have caused."
Caspian was wretchedly pleased that Edmund had such a commanding gaze. He was held rooted to his place, staring at the King of Old. Yet this calm nature from Edmund, the nature of consul and peace was not one he had yet witnessed. It was as troubled as the confusion he faced about his acts.
He had killed for the sake of others, Edmund was right. But he had still killed. That fact remained. It alone had buried itself deep into his restless mind after the battle was won and the celebration began. Caspian had joined in for the beginning, fruitlessly dancing with whoever approached him. He had feasted and drunk yet the merriment crashed down around him like a pounding of steel against steel when he had looked to a fellow's blade and seen droplets of blood along the shaft. Upon that sight, he had risen without a word and vanished from around the blazing bonfire.
Edmund's hand had clasped Caspian's strongly, stroking the roughed skin. "I fought for the peace of Narnia, but at the cost of others," said Caspian.
"One gone means one more to live," repeated Edmund.
"But I feel sorrow for the enemy. Should I not feel any remorse?" asked Caspian. "And become a hardened veteran of battle, ready to run the youngest soldier through with that cursed blade?" He jerked his head sharply towards it.
Edmund was, oddly, smiling widely.
"Why do you smile?" asked Caspian, slightly put off by the humour Edmund had found in him.
"I just – you will make a great king, Caspian." Edmund released his hold on Caspian's hands, touching, instead, his shoulders firmly. The King of Old pressed his lips softly against the young man's.
Edmund pulled back, squeezed Caspian's shoulders gently and rose to his feet. Caspian stared at his hands, feeling the tingling on his lips. The handle of his sword was thrust into his vision. He took it.
"Though I hope you will have no more need for this," Edmund was saying, as he handed over the blade Caspian had tossed aside, "do not stop to defend Narnia. Feel remorse – it will separate you from horrid people like Miraz."
Caspian was on his feet, standing before Edmund. "Edmund."
"Yes, my king?" There was a glint of hope strong in Edmund's gaze and a small smile.
"You fought valiantly." Caspian had now noted Edmund's layers to self. He had youthful excitement in the battle, he perhaps enjoyed it, but he was a brave person, eager to help and eager to put right and ease troubles. But yet he still teased.
Edmund dipped his head into a bow. Something Caspian couldn't quite place was slight mockery or acknowledgement of a compliment. "Do not bow," he said, smiling. "You are still a King of Old. You bravely defended Narnia. I will have a hard time living up to your and your siblings, legend."
"You will make a great king," repeated Edmund in thanks and with sincerity.
Caspian offered his thanks by stooping his head to meet Edmund's lips once more.