chronicles of narnia. edmund & lucy. spoilers through last battle. R. characters belong to C.S. Lewis. written for anachronisma on LJ, for the kinkmeme prompt, "Lucy/Edmund during the Golden Age with Lucy dressed as a man. Non-explicit." my illustration of lucy is here: pics . livejournal . com / elendraug / pic / 000x22xg
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daughter of adam
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"She's not like Lucy, you know, who's as good as a man, or at any rate as good as a boy. Queen Susan is more like an ordinary grown-up lady." -- Prince Corin, The Horse and His Boy
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It starts during a battle.
His sword hacks into their enemies, taking them down one after another, blood pooling at his feet. Through the violent frenzy he sees her, letting arrows fly, driving her dagger into skin exposed by gaps in armor. Her hair is cut short now; keeping it long would be foolhardy in a fight.
The air is hot as they walk back to join their horses. Sweat sticks to their faces from exertion and the heat. Lucy pulls herself up onto her horse, clothed in all leather and clinking mail, and rides towards Cair Paravel.
Edmund follows her.
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She practices swordfighting with Tumnus, his shield matching every blow she lands. The blades she once struggled to lift are now handled with ease, and once she's warmed up, he's having difficulty blocking her.
Edmund joins them, walking slowly into the courtyard, his eyes fixed on their movements. Unsheathing his own sword, he gestures toward Lucy.
"Shall we?"
Lucy grins, and within seconds they're locked in combat. The sound of clashing metal echoes against the castle walls; they're evenly matched.
Tumnus contents himself to sit on the grass and watch.
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Dressed in trousers and a tunic, she sits on a staircase, attentively cleaning her dagger. She looks every bit the part of a knight from countless fairytales, set to don armor and defend her country at a moment's notice.
"Lucy," says Edmund, and Lucy says, "Follow me." With fire in her eyes, she turns and is up the stairs in a heartbeat, boots thudding against the steps.
Edmund follows her.
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It's like the games they played as children, a decade ago in another world, another life. He searches the castle's rooms with no luck. She's not simply in a wardrobe this time. Finally stepping slowly into one of the guest rooms, he's suddenly grabbed by someone behind the door and shoved roughly against the wall.
"I thought I was supposed to find you," Edmund half-laughs, half-gasps.
"You were too slow," she says with a smile, and kisses him hard.
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It's funny, he thinks, because women normally do nothing for him. Atop him, chest flat with her breasts bound, she's nothing like the other queen. She wanted to be a warrior, and she is.
He spreads his legs wider, allows her to settle between them, their clothing shifting as she presses against him on the bed. There's nothing girlish about her movements, about her; not anymore. Gripping the lean muscle of her arm, he wonders if there ever really was.
She thrusts against him again, and again, and he starts panting breathlessly.
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It ends with a hunt for the fabled White Stag, with a tipoff from Tumnus and travelling too deep into Lantern Waste. They're back in England, stripped of their age but not of their royalty.
The next twelve months are spent in a daze, with magic eventually returning them to a Narnia they hardly recognize. A third time, just the two of them, their fellow rulers left behind in a world that's hardly the real one.
Then seven more years, far too many, wishing and waiting and wanting so desperately to go back, to return to what once was.
They refuse to forget.
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It starts during a battle, the three of them part of a greater seven, dressed once again in fine clothing and shining chainmail. Further up and further in, with fresh air and clear blue skies, they have enough time for everything. With sheer joy, they battle again, swords lighter and moving more freely than ever. Laughing and smiling, they drop to the ground and tumble in the grass. They've never felt so alive.
Lucy tilts her head back, meeting Edmund's eyes upside-down, and motions for him to follow her.
Endlessly and effortlessly, they run.