FIC: Snippets
Jan. 26th, 2008 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gmtaslashTitle: Snippets
Fandom: Narnia. One is Dawn Treader era, the other in the unspecified gap between VoDT and TLB.
Author: Bridget
Rating: PG and G respectively
Disclaimer: It's all CS Lewis's, and last time I checked, I wasn't him.
Notes: Apparently, when Trojie goes on holiday, my mind rebels and produces rambling ficlets. Which she then insists I post, despite my protests. So here they are. They sort of fit in the same timeline as our other E/C stuff, although where, exactly, I have no idea. Anyway! Enough waffle. Click the link, you know you want to.
One
'Caspian,' Edmund breathes, and it is all he can do to speak the word clearly, evenly, without choking on it. The answer comes in the form of lips nuzzling the softness behind his ear, as fingers gently stroke through the salt-encrusted locks of his hair. 'Caspian...'
Their kisses consume them, for a moment, before Edmund is able to compose himself fully and pull back. He searches Caspian's face, though he does not quite understand what he seeks there.
'What is it?' Caspian asks softly, a smile playing about his lips.
'I... nothing. You,' Edmund eventually manages. He brings his hand up, clasping Caspian's fingers within his own. 'I thought -' He breaks off, unsure of how to continue, not seeing any possible way to end the sentence that will not leave him sounding breathless, faithless, lost.
'I knew,' Caspian ventures after a moment. 'I knew you would return to me.'
'Did you?' Edmund doubts it. How could Caspian know this? More pertinently, how could Caspian consider this? There are other things at stake; there have always been other things at stake, and for Edmund at least, returning to Caspian has never taken prominence above returning to Narnia. Returning to Caspian has been an unsought boon, something he never dared truly hope for.
'I believed,' Caspian adds, and that, Edmund thinks, as he brings his lips to meet Caspian's once more, may be enough. For now, at least.
Two
Euan, euan! comes the cry, and Edmund smiles, knowing where this leads. But it's different this time, he is not surrounded by the greens and golds of Narnia, and the cry comes from behind.
He turns, seeing the dismal grey street laid out before him, wind scattering the raindrops across the tramlines. He is alone.
Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi!
A flash of gold, and he follows the glistening metal rails down the murky street, peering ahead into the fog. Ahead, he knows, is acceptance, salvation.
Of course, he also knows that ahead is nothing more than a run-down tobacconist's and a street full of dirty cobbles and innumerable identical grime-filled lives, and he knows the cry of Bacchus is all in his head, but he walks anyway, lost in memory. There is, after all, nowhere else for him to be right now, nothing he should be doing, no-one who needs him.
It's probably quite a sorry affair, a king of Narnia reduced to this, but right now, Edmund doesn't really care. Hasn't really cared for a long time now, not since he returned for the final time, with the conclusive knowledge that his importance would always be fleeting, replaceable. It's a good lesson, probably, one that many more people could do to learn, but Edmund wishes his lesson hadn't had to be so hard or so bitter.
It's also, he thinks, probably not the lesson Aslan intended him to learn.
Fandom: Narnia. One is Dawn Treader era, the other in the unspecified gap between VoDT and TLB.
Author: Bridget
Rating: PG and G respectively
Disclaimer: It's all CS Lewis's, and last time I checked, I wasn't him.
Notes: Apparently, when Trojie goes on holiday, my mind rebels and produces rambling ficlets. Which she then insists I post, despite my protests. So here they are. They sort of fit in the same timeline as our other E/C stuff, although where, exactly, I have no idea. Anyway! Enough waffle. Click the link, you know you want to.
One
'Caspian,' Edmund breathes, and it is all he can do to speak the word clearly, evenly, without choking on it. The answer comes in the form of lips nuzzling the softness behind his ear, as fingers gently stroke through the salt-encrusted locks of his hair. 'Caspian...'
Their kisses consume them, for a moment, before Edmund is able to compose himself fully and pull back. He searches Caspian's face, though he does not quite understand what he seeks there.
'What is it?' Caspian asks softly, a smile playing about his lips.
'I... nothing. You,' Edmund eventually manages. He brings his hand up, clasping Caspian's fingers within his own. 'I thought -' He breaks off, unsure of how to continue, not seeing any possible way to end the sentence that will not leave him sounding breathless, faithless, lost.
'I knew,' Caspian ventures after a moment. 'I knew you would return to me.'
'Did you?' Edmund doubts it. How could Caspian know this? More pertinently, how could Caspian consider this? There are other things at stake; there have always been other things at stake, and for Edmund at least, returning to Caspian has never taken prominence above returning to Narnia. Returning to Caspian has been an unsought boon, something he never dared truly hope for.
'I believed,' Caspian adds, and that, Edmund thinks, as he brings his lips to meet Caspian's once more, may be enough. For now, at least.
Two
Euan, euan! comes the cry, and Edmund smiles, knowing where this leads. But it's different this time, he is not surrounded by the greens and golds of Narnia, and the cry comes from behind.
He turns, seeing the dismal grey street laid out before him, wind scattering the raindrops across the tramlines. He is alone.
Euan, euan, eu-oi-oi-oi!
A flash of gold, and he follows the glistening metal rails down the murky street, peering ahead into the fog. Ahead, he knows, is acceptance, salvation.
Of course, he also knows that ahead is nothing more than a run-down tobacconist's and a street full of dirty cobbles and innumerable identical grime-filled lives, and he knows the cry of Bacchus is all in his head, but he walks anyway, lost in memory. There is, after all, nowhere else for him to be right now, nothing he should be doing, no-one who needs him.
It's probably quite a sorry affair, a king of Narnia reduced to this, but right now, Edmund doesn't really care. Hasn't really cared for a long time now, not since he returned for the final time, with the conclusive knowledge that his importance would always be fleeting, replaceable. It's a good lesson, probably, one that many more people could do to learn, but Edmund wishes his lesson hadn't had to be so hard or so bitter.
It's also, he thinks, probably not the lesson Aslan intended him to learn.
