Rating: PG for slashyness
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic
relationships.
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated
to her.
Chapter One from Caspian's point of view
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The High King is not anything like how I imagined him. He's younger than I expected, for
one thing – they've tried to explain that to me, and it seems to be something to do with
the magic in the land that they come from, but I still can't help but find it strange.
When I first met him, I might almost have said that he wasn't as noble as a High King ought
to be, but I would have been wrong. He is as gallant and honourable a knight as any man
might hope to meet. He proved that in his dealings with Trufflehunter and Trumpkin, and
most of all during his combat with Miraz. He has a boy's face – although he is a little
older than me – but is as strong and brave and gentlemanly as ever a king was. I found
myself reminded that it is best not to judge a man on your first impressions, because
looks can be deceiving.
The other king, King Edmund – I find that I do not know how to think about him. He was
always my favourite one out of the legends, because he was not a goody-two-shoes. He made
mistakes, and he got into real trouble, and then afterwards, he was man enough to admit
that he had done wrong, and he was forgiven, and then he tried so hard to make up for
everything, and I always admired him for that. I'd never have thought of modelling myself
on the High King, if I ever gained the throne of Narnia – he always seemed too far above
me for that, and I always knew I would do wrong and make my fair share of mistakes. But
Edmund – I used to hope and dream that one day I would be a king such as Edmund.
I always thought that he must have been very special, for them to forgive him the way they
did, after all the bad things he did. And Aslan must have cared for him a great deal, to
have died for him. Cornelius always used to say that that part was just a metaphor, and
really, in a way, Aslan died for all of us, and it's something to do with an ancient and
powerful magic from before the dawn of time. But I never really understood that part. It
was for Edmund's sake that Aslan went to the stone table, and allowed himself to be tied
up, and shorn, and pierced to the very heart by the wicked stone knife of the evil witch
queen.
Aslan must have loved Edmund very much indeed.
And now he is here, straight out of the legend, this king whom I have always admired. He
is only a boy, a bit younger than myself, if truth be told, but there is something ancient
and wise in his eyes. You can tell that he has seen many battles, and many adventures, and
many great and splendid things. He can be very grave and solemn, but sometimes, when I least
expect it, his eyes start to dance with laughter and merriment and sometimes even a little
bit of mischievousness. He kept smiling at me. The High King was rushing about trying to
organise things, and his head was full of thoughts of Miraz, and Aslan, and battles, and
thrones, and dryads, and dwarves, and challenges, and masters of ceremony, and high
politics, and all sorts of other grand and important things. He reassured me that he had
not come to take my throne, but only to set me in it… but and half the time he didn't even
seem to remember I was there.
Edmund did, though. He kept smiling at me. I think he felt kind of sorry for me.
It was him that fixed the bandage on my arm, where the wolf had bitten me. I was trying to
be brave – trying even harder, in front of these kings straight out of legend – but it was
the first time I had ever been wounded, and it did ache so. I gritted my teeth, and managed
not to blub, or faint, or do any of the other pathetic things I felt rather like doing at
that moment. Edmund was really nice about it.
'It's a shame my sister Lu isn't here,' he said. 'She's got a cordial that'd make your arm
feel right as rain in just a moment. It's the same one as out of the stories, you know.' He
grinned at me. 'Lucy's a good little nurse,' he said.
'I'm sure she is, Highness,' I said shyly, more than a little tongue-tied.
'I, on the other hand, don't seem to be much good at all at this doctoring business at
all,' he added with a laugh. 'I'm afraid I'm making a right pig's ear of this. I'm terribly
sorry.'
'Oh no, Highness! You're doing a splendid job, thanks,' I murmured.
'See here, Caspian! You don't have to keep calling me Highness all the time. Edmund will do
just fine.'
'Yes, Highness,' I answered without thinking, and then bit my tongue. He laughed, and
clapped a hand down on my shoulder, and then went back to concentrating on my arm.
He was gentle, if a little clumsy, and while he was cleaning it up – which stung like
anything – he distracted me with the story of the first time he was ever injured, fighting
the White Witch. I knew the story well, of course, but was different the way he told it.
It didn't sound half as noble. In fact, it sounded cold, and muddy, and confused, and
painful – not noble at all, really.
'I really did think I was a goner, and I don't mind telling you, I wasn't half scared,' he
admitted cheerfully, and I managed to smile at him, wondering all the time if perhaps – just
maybe – my story, as painful and miserable as it seems now, might one day come out like
another heroic legend.
'Well, that seems to be done,' Edmund said eventually. 'You look a little less pale now,
at any rate,' he said. From anyone else, I might have taken that as a slight, but not from
him.
'Are you done, Ed?' Peter called. 'There are some aspects of Miraz' strategy that I need
to discuss with Caspian.'
'Yeah, we're done here,' Edmund said. He didn't tell Peter to go easy on me, because it
would have been insulting, but I could tell he was thinking it. Fortunately, it didn't
matter either way, because Trumpkin intervened of his own accord.
'Now,' he said with a half stern, half amused glance at Peter. 'Before everything else we
want breakfast.'
I think it was only then that Peter realised quite how long it had been since he'd last
eaten, because he frowned slightly, and then almost laughed, and then he looked relieved,
and nodded at Trumpkin.
'But not in here,' he said wearily.
I wholeheartedly agreed with him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Diclaimer: Narnia and all characters belong to CS Lewis. I'm just borrowing them. I've also
borrowed on or two lines of dialogue to tie this in to the frame of Prince Caspian.
No disrespect is meant by this. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
A/N: This will become slashy. Very, very gently slashy, but it will focus on m/m romantic
relationships.
I wrote this in response to a request from my very dear friend AngelHair, and it's dedicated
to her.
Chapter One from Caspian's point of view
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The High King is not anything like how I imagined him. He's younger than I expected, for
one thing – they've tried to explain that to me, and it seems to be something to do with
the magic in the land that they come from, but I still can't help but find it strange.
When I first met him, I might almost have said that he wasn't as noble as a High King ought
to be, but I would have been wrong. He is as gallant and honourable a knight as any man
might hope to meet. He proved that in his dealings with Trufflehunter and Trumpkin, and
most of all during his combat with Miraz. He has a boy's face – although he is a little
older than me – but is as strong and brave and gentlemanly as ever a king was. I found
myself reminded that it is best not to judge a man on your first impressions, because
looks can be deceiving.
The other king, King Edmund – I find that I do not know how to think about him. He was
always my favourite one out of the legends, because he was not a goody-two-shoes. He made
mistakes, and he got into real trouble, and then afterwards, he was man enough to admit
that he had done wrong, and he was forgiven, and then he tried so hard to make up for
everything, and I always admired him for that. I'd never have thought of modelling myself
on the High King, if I ever gained the throne of Narnia – he always seemed too far above
me for that, and I always knew I would do wrong and make my fair share of mistakes. But
Edmund – I used to hope and dream that one day I would be a king such as Edmund.
I always thought that he must have been very special, for them to forgive him the way they
did, after all the bad things he did. And Aslan must have cared for him a great deal, to
have died for him. Cornelius always used to say that that part was just a metaphor, and
really, in a way, Aslan died for all of us, and it's something to do with an ancient and
powerful magic from before the dawn of time. But I never really understood that part. It
was for Edmund's sake that Aslan went to the stone table, and allowed himself to be tied
up, and shorn, and pierced to the very heart by the wicked stone knife of the evil witch
queen.
Aslan must have loved Edmund very much indeed.
And now he is here, straight out of the legend, this king whom I have always admired. He
is only a boy, a bit younger than myself, if truth be told, but there is something ancient
and wise in his eyes. You can tell that he has seen many battles, and many adventures, and
many great and splendid things. He can be very grave and solemn, but sometimes, when I least
expect it, his eyes start to dance with laughter and merriment and sometimes even a little
bit of mischievousness. He kept smiling at me. The High King was rushing about trying to
organise things, and his head was full of thoughts of Miraz, and Aslan, and battles, and
thrones, and dryads, and dwarves, and challenges, and masters of ceremony, and high
politics, and all sorts of other grand and important things. He reassured me that he had
not come to take my throne, but only to set me in it… but and half the time he didn't even
seem to remember I was there.
Edmund did, though. He kept smiling at me. I think he felt kind of sorry for me.
It was him that fixed the bandage on my arm, where the wolf had bitten me. I was trying to
be brave – trying even harder, in front of these kings straight out of legend – but it was
the first time I had ever been wounded, and it did ache so. I gritted my teeth, and managed
not to blub, or faint, or do any of the other pathetic things I felt rather like doing at
that moment. Edmund was really nice about it.
'It's a shame my sister Lu isn't here,' he said. 'She's got a cordial that'd make your arm
feel right as rain in just a moment. It's the same one as out of the stories, you know.' He
grinned at me. 'Lucy's a good little nurse,' he said.
'I'm sure she is, Highness,' I said shyly, more than a little tongue-tied.
'I, on the other hand, don't seem to be much good at all at this doctoring business at
all,' he added with a laugh. 'I'm afraid I'm making a right pig's ear of this. I'm terribly
sorry.'
'Oh no, Highness! You're doing a splendid job, thanks,' I murmured.
'See here, Caspian! You don't have to keep calling me Highness all the time. Edmund will do
just fine.'
'Yes, Highness,' I answered without thinking, and then bit my tongue. He laughed, and
clapped a hand down on my shoulder, and then went back to concentrating on my arm.
He was gentle, if a little clumsy, and while he was cleaning it up – which stung like
anything – he distracted me with the story of the first time he was ever injured, fighting
the White Witch. I knew the story well, of course, but was different the way he told it.
It didn't sound half as noble. In fact, it sounded cold, and muddy, and confused, and
painful – not noble at all, really.
'I really did think I was a goner, and I don't mind telling you, I wasn't half scared,' he
admitted cheerfully, and I managed to smile at him, wondering all the time if perhaps – just
maybe – my story, as painful and miserable as it seems now, might one day come out like
another heroic legend.
'Well, that seems to be done,' Edmund said eventually. 'You look a little less pale now,
at any rate,' he said. From anyone else, I might have taken that as a slight, but not from
him.
'Are you done, Ed?' Peter called. 'There are some aspects of Miraz' strategy that I need
to discuss with Caspian.'
'Yeah, we're done here,' Edmund said. He didn't tell Peter to go easy on me, because it
would have been insulting, but I could tell he was thinking it. Fortunately, it didn't
matter either way, because Trumpkin intervened of his own accord.
'Now,' he said with a half stern, half amused glance at Peter. 'Before everything else we
want breakfast.'
I think it was only then that Peter realised quite how long it had been since he'd last
eaten, because he frowned slightly, and then almost laughed, and then he looked relieved,
and nodded at Trumpkin.
'But not in here,' he said wearily.
I wholeheartedly agreed with him.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*