Rating: PG-13 wiggles eyebrows. Kiddies bewarned – some mature stuff ahead.
Summary: Lucy wants what she can't have. One shot – I think.
Disclaimer: Read at your own risk. A late-night plot bunny has multiplied beyond control, and done crazy things to C.S. Lewis's amazing story (which, yep, he still owns, last I checked). So, needless to say I make nothing off of this and do this solely to please myself, and hopefully not tick off too many readers. :)
How did it come to this?
Lucy couldn't tell when exactly they crossed the line of friendship and affection to – this. Whatever this was, this feeling of being on fire just thinking about him, fire that turned to ice when she remembered. She was a Queen, and he was – forbidden. To her, at least.
She thought her heart would bleed itself dry when she watched him dancing with graceful wood nymphs or water sprites at the Christmas ball. The way the merry lamplight was reflected in his unruly hair, how his eyes lit up as he surveyed his partner, seemed almost unbearable to Lucy, who must be her laughing self watching on the sidelines, not showing how much he really meant to her.
But then he would grab her hands and swing her around the Grand Hall, and all her ballroom dancing lessons, carefully taught by her etiquette instructors, were forgotten as she laughed for real in his arms. Those, she thought at the ripe old age of fifteen, were the best of times.
As they both grew older, their paths necessarily took divulging courses. He was often to be found either in the library at Cair Paravel or traveling around the kingdom, attending to the concerns and needs of its diverse creatures. Lucy, who loved the sea, was partial to voyages to the outlying countries and islands, and as she entered adulthood, she was often the one sent on diplomatic errands and visits of state. Ah, Galma, Terebinthia, the Seven Islands, the Lone Islands – she loved them all, and became well acquainted with their various rulers and peoples. Funnily enough, it was Susan and not Lucy whose hand was sought in marriage by the kings of these countries – Lucy was well content to be their friend and confidant in matters of the heart. Her heart was already given…to a Narnian who could never know of her love.
Some nights, on board the trim Narnian schooner that she loved so well, Lucy would listen to the gentle slap of the waves against the hull and stare out at the stars from her cabin window, lying on her side in the small berth that served as a bed. Those were the nights she would think of him, and hate herself for wishing he were there with her, curled up next to her and drinking in the vast night sky together. And then she'd think of all the other things besides stargazing that she wished to share with him, and she hated herself even more for it. Her eyes drifted over the sparkle of the waning moonlight on the dark surface of the sea, and she burned for what she could not have.
Yet, occasionally, their paths would collide, and there were nights when they would sit by the fire in his rooms at Cair Paravel, or hers, and talk, just like old times. He would make tea, and she would butter scones and toast (never mind the burnt edges from toasting over an open fireplace), and they would just talk. Later, on those lonely nights in her cold bed, she had trouble remember what exactly they talked about. It was different from their conversations when she was a little girl. They both had important roles to fill now, and duties that took much of their time, so when she finally would steal precious moments to sit down with him, the first few minutes were for catching up.
Have the dwarves finally settled their feud?
Not entirely, but we're making good progress. How does the Duke of Redhaven feel about trade relations with Narnia? I hear their red wine is beyond compare?
I think it likely we will be able to sample it for ourselves next feast day. If you will be there.
Talk might turn to old times then – memories of the Pevensies' early days in Narnia, the adventures of putting the kingdom to rights, the lovely times they had together when they both were more carefree. Sometimes she would mention her first visit to Narnia, but not very often, for it dredged up painful recollections for both of them. So they were content to reminisce about the many picnics and expeditions and feasts that were so frequent in the years after the remnants of the Witch's army had been destroyed or driven out of Narnia.
Or they might discuss the latest book he had been reading, and Lucy might make some attempt to steal it for a late-night adventure under the covers, a useless thievery as he always gladly surrendered the book anyways, or found another copy somewhere. Lucy loved meeting him in the library and sinking into one of the plush armchairs there, or, if she was feeling particularly stoic that day, relaxing beside him on the sofa as he read aloud in his quiet, thoughtful voice. She loved even more talking with him in near-whispers in the intimacy of their rooms, watching the flames flicker over his boyish face.
But after they had talked and read and reminisced their fill, a silence would fall over them that was as comforting as it was difficult for Lucy to bear. She relished the companionship and wordless accord of their kinship, yet those were the moments in which she found it the hardest to keep her composure. Oh how she longed to touch his cheek, trace her fingers along his jaw and feel the rough friction of his beard. She mustn't, she mustn't… She knew if she touched him, she would not be able to stop herself from leaning over him and letting her lips brush his, oh so gently, like an easterly breeze kissing her face as she stood at the bow of her ship. How she would tremble and flush if he returned her kiss, drew her into his lap and showered upon her the caresses she could never, ever know…
Her eyes darkened as she stared resolutely at the fire, willing herself not to think about how full and kissable his mouth looked in the firelight. She could almost see phantom shapes dancing in the flames, and dared not try to trace what – or who – they were. So absorbed in her reflections did she become that Lucy was startled by a touch on her shoulder. He was standing before her, a concerned look on his face.
"Lucy, you're tired. You've had a long journey; come, let's get you to your rooms."
She shook her head, still half-lost in revery. "No, it's so quiet and peaceful here. I… I haven't been sleeping well lately in my chambers. I suppose I miss the motion of the waves."
"Is that it?" He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Where is merry Queen Lucy tonight?"
Lucy laughed, not merrily at all. "She is not here at all, I'm afraid. I have no mirth left tonight, but I don't want to be alone just yet…"
"Then don't." He took her by the hand, and she felt the connection of their hands as though it were a living thing. She rose and let herself be led through the connecting room, past the usual sitting area, and into the bedchamber – that forbidden sanctuary where she ought not intrude, the last vestige of purity in her mind. Yet she had not the will to stop him when he gently closed the door, drew her to the bed, and wordlessly began removing her dressing gown and loosening her hair. She willed herself not to quiver at his touch, lest he notice and send her away, and shut her eyes so that they might not betray her too. This was so much different than she had imagined it in her wickedest of dreams – so much more violent emotions coursed through her, and at the same time it was so much more comforting and right than she could ever have pictured.
Right. She gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and he put his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. "You're not alone here."
"No," she stammered. "Never with you."
She lingered in his embrace for a few delicious, sinful moments, then exhaled shakily and looked up at him. He smiled, as only he could, and eased her back down onto the soft covers, tucking them around her in a coccoon. She thought her resolve would shatter when he nestled beside her, arms wrapped around her stomach and sending tremors down her spine with every breath against the back of her neck.
"Sleep, little Lucy," he whispered.
"Edmund," she breathed, and trembled.
Please leave reviews and tell me what you think. I've never written anything like this before so I'm anxious to know if it's any good or not