#edmund had already known they were there

[sansaorgana]

— LADY OF THE ROSES (IV)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Tyrell!OC

SUMMARY — Gwayne and his wife visit King's Landing with their children, who are very jealous of the fact that their cousins own their dragons and they do not. In the meantime, Otto Hightower wonders if his daughter-in-law is truly loyal to his house.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is a Tyrell. + You don’t have to know the previous chapters to understand this one and it's the last one of this story. 😊💚 In the show Gwayne mentions that it took him three months to get to King's Landing but I was using some website while writing previous parts where it says that it takes a week from Oldtown to Highgarden and, according to the same logic, it takes less than a month from Highgarden to King's Landing – that's why I decided to make the whole trip only a month long here. 🤔

WARNINGS — Alicent slapping Aegon's face, Reader's child getting hurt (nothing major)

WORD COUNT — 6,870

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LADY OF THE ROSES (IV)

Past few weeks had been busy and spent on making all the necessary preparations before the long trip. Oldtown would be left without the Lord or Lady to look after it for around three months and it required lots of training and instructing all the servants and knights around the city what to do in your absence.

You had been summoned by your father-in-law and his daughter, The Queen Consort. They had invited your Lord Husband and you to King’s Landing to spend time together – even though you had a very weird feeling the sudden need to create a stronger bond within the family was dictated by some hidden agenda. Either way, you were rather excited for the trip even though it would take about a month on the road to even get to the capital city of Westeros.

What stressed you the most was travelling for so long with four children you had given Gwayne for the past few years. Your eldest son Edmund was twelve now and his brother William was ten. Your daughter Rosalynd was eight and her sister Florys was six. You were glad that the time when you had been pregnant nearly constantly was over now and you could enjoy the ups and downs of motherhood without many worries because your husband was a man devoted to his family. Gwayne had not only been raising his sons and teaching them all they needed to know about the sword but he also made sure to spend quality time with his daughters. And above that all, he was simply a caring and sweet husband. No matter how many years had passed.

Your trip started in the very early morning and you all were half asleep while getting inside the carriage. Rosalynd was sleeping with her head on your lap and little Florys was asleep in her father’s arms. Edmund and William were looking out of the window, excited and interested in everything that they were seeing although the road to The Highgarden was very well known to them. Because you lived so close to your parents, your children were often visiting their castle. 

What started peacefully, soon turned out to be a little nightmare. The children were very whiny and easily getting bored. When you reached The Highgarden a week after leaving Oldtown, you were seriously considering coming back home instead of going further down the Rose Road. 

“It is only the beginning of the trip and it is already exhausting,” you complained to your parents during supper when you were staying overnight at their place.

“You might not get a second chance to go to King’s Landing, my darling,” your father reminded you. “Endure it.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Gwayne chuckled and shook his head.

“I do not understand,” your mother spoke up. “Look at them, my grandchildren,” she smiled at the four of your children eating their meals quietly. “They’re so well-behaved. Little angels, really,” she sighed lovingly.

“Perhaps we might leave them here for three moons, how about that?” Your eyes sparkled at the idea. “We shall leave for King's Landing on the morrow while you watch over them.”

“I would love to,” your mother grinned.

“I would not,” your father’s eyes widened at the idea.

“I do not think that is a good idea, my Lady,” Gwayne put his hand on top of yours gently and you looked at him, confused. “To spend three moons without my little ones would be a nightmare,” he explained and your smile dropped.

Gwayne was right. You would miss your children dearly, too. You were sending them sometimes to spend two weeks at The Highgarden with their grandparents and given the fact the trip lasted a week, it would be a month away from you. It was barely bearable already whenever it happened. Three months sounded like torture.

“My Gwayne is right,” you sighed and laid your tired eyes on your mother. “They must go with us. Also, just like Lord Father said, such a chance might not happen again. They should see King’s Landing, too,” you nodded.

In the early morning of the next day, you were already back on the Rose Road, which took you through the town of Bitterbridge to The Kingswood where you entered The Kingsroad and The Crownlands. You had never been there and only two times before you had been on the road for such a long time. Both times it had been to attend your sister’s weddings. One had taken place in Dorne and the second had been in The Vale. 

Once you entered The Kingsroad, it would only take you a few days to reach King’s Landing and you were more than grateful for that. Both you and Gwayne were exhausted after trying to entertain your children on the road and attempting to tame their tantrums caused by boredom and frustration.

The night before reaching King’s Landing you were sleeping at the castle of some lesser Lord who lived nearby the road. You had been given the guest rooms but you couldn’t fall asleep, both excited and anxious about the next day.

“What are you possibly scared of, my love?” Gwayne soothed you by caressing your face with his fingertips when you were laying in his arms and staring at the ceiling instead of drifting off to the land of dreams. “You had met my father already and he seems to be quite indifferent towards you,” he pointed out.

Otto Hightower had visited Oldtown a few times after your wedding to his son and what Gwayne had said was painfully true – he seemed to be indifferent towards you. Just like he was indifferent towards his own son. The only signs of affection you had seen in him were for your daughters. He hadn’t even thanked you for giving him two healthy grandsons and heirs – his attention had been fully focused on the girls. It was quite adorable, you had to admit. But it was also saddening for your husband and sons.

“What about your sister? The King? Will our children get along with their cousins?” You voiced out all your insecurities in a low whisper. “And The Targaryens… I do fear them, Gwayne. People say they are more gods than men.”

“I am sure they are men just like you and I,” Gwayne smiled and kissed your forehead while caressing your arm.

“They have dragons…” You sighed.

“We probably will not even encounter one,” he assured you. “And do not be afraid of my sister or her husband. Are you not always reminding everyone that you are a sister-in-law of The Queen? Now it is time to meet her personally,” he teased and you rolled your eyes.

You somehow managed to get some sleep on that night. In the morning you had your dress prepared already because you had been planning to wear it for quite a long time. Your maids helped you to put on the elegant green gown that was pretty low-cut. You were a daughter of The Highgarden and you had never stopped wearing such necklines. Your own Lord Husband had given up already on trying to change that – in fact, he enjoyed it. You decorated your exposed neck with a golden pendant of The Seven-Pointed Star to make Queen Alicent happy.

Gwayne found it quite funny but you gave him a scolding look.

Your children had green outfits, too. Pretty little green dresses on your girls and dark green tunics with The Hightower beacon embroidered on them on your boys. The Hightowers were coming to King’s Landing.

When you reached the city you were staring out of the window with as much curiosity as your children. Gwayne had been in the capital once before for the tournament when he had been very young so his excitement was not as big.

Lots of people were staring at your carriage with a hint of curiosity. They knew that The Hightowers were The Queen’s family and for that reason some of them waved shyly at you. You were trying to wave back but Rosalynd and Florys were the ones who actually enjoyed it the most – feeling like little Princesses greeting the crowd. So, you allowed them to have fun as you leaned back on your seat. Your hand found Gwayne’s immediately and you squeezed it.

“You better be on your best behaviour once we reach The Red Keep,” you told your sons. “All of you,” you laid your eyes on your giggling daughters.

“You do not need to worry, mother,” Edmund nodded at you and straightened his back, trying to present himself more mature.

“I cannot wait to train with my cousins,” William added. “Father, will we be able to?”

“I do think so,” Gwayne nodded with a smile at him and leaned in to fix William’s ruffled hair.

“I cannot wait to spend time with Princess Helaena,” Rosalynd sighed dreamily. “She must be so ethereal… A Targaryen Princess…”

“I want to see grampa,” Florys’ eyes sparkled and you chuckled at your sweet little girl.

You smiled nervously at your husband when you realised you were already entering The Red Keep’s courtyard and a few people were waiting for you. You spotted your tall father-in-law and that beautiful woman standing next to him had to be Queen Alicent herself. She had soft, curly hair in the auburn colour and her dress was of the same shade of green as yours. You sincerely hoped it would not be considered rude of you but you had no idea. There were three silver-haired children with them – two boys and a girl. They had to be Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena and Prince Aemond.

“Grampa!” Florys clapped her hands excitedly and already moved to the carriage’s door.

“Florys, mummy and daddy are leaving the carriage first,” you reminded her softly.

“Do try to behave like a big girl!” Her older sister scolded her. “We are in King’s Landing!”

“Rosalynd, you are not her Lady Mother,” Gwayne reminded his daughter.

In the meantime, the servant announced your family and opened the door of the carriage. You took a deep breath in and watched your husband get out before offering you his hand to help you. You took it softly and wore a nervous smile before facing your in-laws.

The moment your feet touched the ground, you felt something moving behind your skirts. It was little Florys jumping out of the carriage already and running as fast as possible towards her grandfather. Everyone froze for a moment and widened their eyes at the scene.

“Grampa!” Florys reached her hands out and Otto Hightower let out a nervous chuckle before crouching down to give her a tight squeeze.

“You are being impatient, Lady Florys,” he greeted her and she clapped her hands.

Rosalynd stood by your side with a sigh and an eye-roll. Meanwhile, your sons chose to stand by their father. Since Florys had broken all the protocols already anyway, you decided to simply walk up to The Queen without caring about the right order as you nodded at your husband. He nodded back and only then Rosalynd ran up to her grandfather as well to give him a hug, too.

You sighed and shook your head before walking up to Queen Alicent herself. Your sons followed you and Gwayne while Otto whispered something to the girls, which made their faces go serious as they joined your side, too. You all bowed down respectfully. 

“My Queen,” you greeted her.

“Sister,” Gwayne kissed the palm of her hand.

From the corner of your eye you spotted the older Prince yawning. Queen Alicent blushed and pushed him slightly with her elbow.

“I see we both struggle when it comes to disciplining our offspring,” she smiled at you but you noticed how she looked down at your low-cut dress and the religious pendant on your exposed chest. She chewed on the inside of her cheek at the sight but she decided not to comment.

“Lady Hightower,” your father-in-law kissed the palm of your hand.

“Lord Father,” you greeted him and he gave you a shadow of a smile.

At his son, he only nodded. Gwayne nodded back and clenched his jaw.

“My grandsons,” Otto approached your boys and shook their hands. “Let me introduce the young Princes to you,” he pointed at the silver-haired boys standing by Queen Alicent’s side. “Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond.”

“Lord Edmund,” Edmund introduced himself and extended his hand towards Aegon. Prince Aegon looked him up and down and after a while of hesitation, he shook your son’s hand.

“Lord William,” your younger boy introduced himself and reached out for Aemond’s hand. Prince Aemond shook it shyly.

“Are you Princess Helaena?” Rosalynd stood in front of the Princess with Florys hiding behind her. 

The silver-haired girl widened her eyes and looked pretty startled. She took a step back and Rosalynd furrowed her brow.

“Princess Helaena is of a… rather timid nature,” Queen Alicent explained.

“Let us come inside, you must be exhausted after the journey,” Otto pointed at the doors leading to the castle.

“Do not even get me started, Lord Father,” Gwayne chuckled. “And certainly do not get my Lady Wife started,” he added teasingly and you shot him a scolding glance.

The first day was pretty chaotic because everyone was exhausted but also excited to see as much as possible of The Red Keep. Otto Hightower gave you and your children a tour himself. The only place he avoided were the chambers of The King who was ill and you had already been told you would not see him most likely.

Gwayne had already seen The Red Keep before but it had been before his sister was The Queen so now he was allowed in more places. He joined your little tour and kept his hands on your sons’ shoulders, while your daughters were holding Otto’s hands. 

To your surprise, during the supper, you quite befriended Queen Alicent. Of course she was still frowning upon your dress but you bonded over the experience of motherhood.

“The Red Keep is so green now,” your father-in-law pointed out happily at the sight of you, his children and grandchildren by the long table. All dressed in green clothes to show off their Hightower surname. “It makes me glad. Gwayne, I would like to have a word with you after supper.”

“Tomorrow, father,” Gwayne shook his head. “We are tired after the journey.”

Otto didn’t say anything to that but he gave his son quite an unpleasant look. You squeezed your husband’s hand underneath the table and caressed the palm of his hand lovingly to soothe him.

You retired to your chambers pretty early because you were longing for the comforts of a bed. Your husband and children followed and you made sure they all found their rooms and beds before you went to your own chambers.

“What do you think is the matter he wishes to discuss with you?” You asked Gwayne while brushing your hair in front of the mirror by the vanity table. He was sitting up on the bed and watching you with admiration in his eyes as every evening. “Do you think it is something about Oldtown?”

“No,” Gwayne shakes his head. “Those instructions have always been sent to us by ravens. It must be something about… the future and its possibilities.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You furrowed your brow and turned around to see his face better.

“You know that my father wants Prince Aegon on The Iron Throne, not Princess Rhaenyra,” your husband reminded you. “And The King might die soon. We are not even allowed to see him.”

“They say he is slowly decaying with each passing day,” you winced when you imagined such a thing happening to a person.

“That must be a terrible fate,” Gwayne sighed. “However, his death will bring the conflict of succession.”

“What conflict?” You asked. “Aegon is his eldest son.”

Gwayne squinted his eyes and then shook his head with a chuckle.

“My father is underestimating you, my sweetling,” he hummed to himself. “Now, come here, since we are sleeping in The Red Keep, I want to make you feel like a Princess,” he opened his arms for you to join him but you only scoffed and put the hairbrush down before fixing your hair with your hands.

“I am not a child anymore, Lord Husband,” you teased. “You shall make me feel like a Queen.”

You and Queen Alicent were sitting in the garden together and watching your daughters trying to befriend each other. Rosalynd and Florys were pretty grossed out and shocked to see Princess Helaena sitting on the grass and picking up all sorts of bugs and insects to examine with her curious eyes. She handed Rosalynd a spider once and your daughter nearly fainted at the sight.

Princess Helaena was of a gentle nature, though. She seemed to like her younger cousins and she was whispering to them all the details about every bug she was picking up. Florys was more interested in them than Rosalynd. Your eight years old daughter was often shooting you meaningful glances but you were only smiling at her in return.

The young princes and your sons were training together in the courtyard with Gwayne and Ser Criston Cole, whom you had recently met. You wondered how it was going, so you decided to finally put Rosalynd out of her misery.

“Shall we check on our sons, Your Grace?” You asked Queen Alicent but she seemed to be surprised.

“What for?” She inquired. “Are they not with the men who teach them?”

“I like to watch my sons while they train and cheer for them,” you told her and smiled softly. She visibly did not understand the appeal of it but she stood up from the bench and you followed. “Girls,” you looked behind your shoulder and extended your hand. “Come.”

Florys ran up to you to take your hand while Rosalynd and Helaena followed quietly behind you. You could hear your daughter desperately trying to start a conversation she was dying to have with a real Princess.

“You must own so many beautiful dresses, Helaena! What is your favourite colour?”

“Beige,” Helaena answered, clearly uninterested but also not wanting to make her cousin sad.

“Nice…” Rosalynd sighed and you could hear that she was disappointed in that answer. “Do you think you could give me some of your old dresses that do not fit you anymore?”

“Rosalynd!” You gasped as you scolded her.

“That is quite alright, Lady Hightower. We shall gift Rosalynd some of Helaena’s old dresses,” Queen Alicent nodded at you and caressed her daughter’s head lovingly.

“Thank you, my Queen,” you smiled at her and then you gave Rosalynd a meaningful look.

“Thank you, aunt,” the girl bowed down happily.

You reached the courtyard but to your surprise, your sons and the young princes were spending time together on their own, whispering and laughing about something, while your husband seemed to be in the middle of an argument with the other knight.

“Is that what you teach them, Ser Criston?” Gwayne was irritated. “Knights shall be chivalrous and rightful.”

“They are no knights, Ser Gwayne, for they are young princes,” Ser Criston answered.

“Gwayne,” you approached them quickly to stand beside your husband and rub his arm before intertwining yours with his. “How is the training going?”

“Oh, rather marvellous, Lady Wife,” he answered, his voice filled with irony and mockery as he looked Ser Criston up and down. “I have a fascinating conversation with Ser Criston here about the manners of a knight. Perhaps they do not teach them in Dorne.”

“You are from Dorne, Ser?” You tried to change the subject as you looked at the man standing in front of you.

“Yes, my Lady,” Ser Criston nodded at you.

“My sister Olenna married a lesser Lord from Dorne,” you told him. “A Toland,” you explained.

“I hope she has found her happiness with him, my Lady,” Ser Criston cracked a smile at you, which made Gwayne move uncomfortably.

“Barely,” you had to admit with a sigh and Ser Criston’s smile turned into a frown.

Before the conversation would become even more awkward, you were interrupted by Edmund and William running up to you and tugging onto your skirts, making both you and your husband turn around.

“What is it?” You asked them.

“Can we go to the dragon pit to see the dragons?!” William’s eyes widened out of excitement.

“I do not think that is a good idea,” you shook your head as your heart skipped a beat out of fear at the thought.

“We only wish to see them,” Edmund explained. “Father…”

“Your mother is right,” Gwayne agreed with you.

“But should not a knight be brave? I want to see a dragon and so does William!” Edmund insisted and sadly, the mention of the knighthood convinced your husband – especially after an argument with Ser Criston about the very same matter.

“Alright then, but be careful you two,” Gwayne nodded and you watched with terror in your eyes as two of your sons ran away to join their cousins and a few servants on the way.

“Gwayne…!” You gasped.

“Worry not,” Queen Alicent’s voice made you turn around. “The Dragonkeepers and the guards are there.”

After hearing this, your daughters seemed to be interested as well. Rosalynd gave you puppy eyes.

“Can we go, too, mother?” She asked.

“Are you a squire, Rosalynd? Or Florys – is she?” You shook your head.

“Let them go, my Lady. It is better to feed the curiosity instead of letting it grow,” Ser Criston spoke and you shot him a deadly glance but you were sort of forced to agree to your daughter’s request now.

You nodded, reluctantly and watched the girls run away to join their brothers and cousins. Princess Helaena remained by her mother’s side, though.

“What about the young Princess?” Gwayne asked her with a smile and lifted her chin up gently with his finger.

“I do not find pleasure in flying, uncle,” she admitted.

You quickly regretted your decision to allow your children to see the dragons. They seemed to be mesmerised by the creatures and they could not stop whining about the fact they did not have their own beasts to ride.

“They are our cousins, mother,” Edmund kept whining to you on your way back from the supper. “Vhagar is so huge… It is so unfair we do not have any dragons and they do have so many!”

“They are princes and you are lords,” you reminded him. “They are Targaryens and you are Hightowers,” you added. “There is no shame in being different.”

“We are not different, Lady Mother,” Rosalynd rolled her eyes. “We are simply worse.”

“I am not jealous,” Florys saved the day with her sweet confession although her siblings shot her a deadly glance. She clinged to her father’s hand and sighed. “Dragons are big and I am small,” she explained and you chuckled because you found her reasoning adorable.

“You are just a coward because you are a girl!” William pointed out.

“I am a girl, too!” Rosalynd protested. “And I am not afraid. In fact, I would surely have a bigger dragon than you!”

“That is enough,” Gwayne shushed them. “Go to your beds, all of you. Sweet dreams about dragons – dreams, only,” he pointed out with a chuckle but the children did not find it funny.

“Goodnight, daddy, mummy,” Florys nodded and dragged Rosalynd with her to their shared chambers. Your older daughter only mumbled her goodnight.

“Goodnight,” Edmund and William both nodded and walked away, still frustrated and offended by the injustice of life and your light treatment of their situation.

You and Gwayne looked at each other and chuckled before going to your own bedroom.

You were asleep in your husband’s arms. The bed you shared in The Red Keep was twice as big as the one you had in Oldtown but you still were sleeping close in the middle of it. Your face was buried in the thin fabric of his shirt and Gwayne had his chin on top of your head and his arms wrapped around you just like yours were wrapped around his chest.

Sudden, loud and rapid knocking upon your doors made you both startle in your sleep and open your eyes. Gwayne sat up and rubbed his eyes and you hid your yawn with your hand.

“What is it?!” Your husband grunted and left the bed to grab a robe laying on the chair and put it on loosely. You sat up as well and watched his silhouette approaching the doors in the darkness of the room. “Someone better be dying,” Gwayne opened the doors and looked the servant up and down.

“F-forgive me for the rapid interruption, my Lord, my Lady…” The man stuttered. He was holding a candle to light up the room a little. “It is about your children…”

Your heart skipped a beat at that and you jumped out of the bed to stand behind your husband.

“What is it? What happened?!” You inquired. “Which children?”

“Lord Edmund is hurt, my Lady. Lord William and Lady Rosalynd seem to be alright but they were involved in it, too,” the servant swallowed thickly after delivering the dreadful news.

“Hurt?!” You squealed and squeezed your husband’s arm out of fear.

“Involved in what?” Gwayne furrowed his eyebrow.

“Apparently, young lords and the lady attempted to claim their own dragons with the help of Prince Aegon,” the servant explained and you nearly fainted at the news. Gwayne’s face went a shade paler in an instant.

“Where are they now?” He asked.

“Everyone is gathering, my Lord. You are expected in the dining hall,” he explained and walked away.

“Gods…” You whimpered and grabbed the very first dress to put on over your nightgown. You did not care much about your appearance at such a moment. Your hands were shaking because you were worried about your children, especially Edmund who was hurt.

Looking presentable enough, both you and Gwayne hurried downstairs and straight into the dining hall. Queen Alicent was there, too and so were Ser Cole and your father-in-law. Your eldest son was being looked after by a maester while William and Rosalynd were standing behind him with their heads kept low. Florys was scared and clinging to Otto’s hand. Prince Aegon looked pretty terrified, too, and he was not even smirking or laughing as usual.

“What happened?! Edmund!” You left Gwayne’s side to rush to your son. Your heart clenched inside your chest at the sight of his cheek burnt slightly. His lips and eyes were unharmed and for that he was lucky but there was a long burnt line on his cheek that would surely not heal completely and leave a scar. “Oh, Edmund…!” You sobbed and pressed the good side of his face to your chest.

“I am alright, mother,” he whispered.

“What were you thinking?!” Gwayne lost his temper but you knew it was dictated by worry and fear. “Grown tired of living, have you?!” He addressed William and Rosalynd now and they both looked away, ashamed.

“I did not go, daddy!” Florys exclaimed proudly. “And I was telling them it was a bad idea!”

“Shut your mouth, Florys!” Rosalynd scolded her and Florys hid herself behind her grandfather. Gwayne clenched his jaw.

“Do not speak to your sister this way, Rosalynd. Do not speak at all, I advise,” he pointed his finger at his daughter and she looked down again. “Whose idea was it?!”

Both William and Rosalynd pointed their fingers at Edmund. Even Florys stuck her little hand out from behind her grandfather to point at her eldest brother.

“Traitors!” Edmund shouted at them.

You looked down at your son’s face. He winced while the maester was putting an ointment on his injury.

“You’re scarred for life,” you sniffled your tears back. “My sweet boy…”

“I have nearly gained a dragon,” he told you proudly. “And the scar does not bother me, mother, for I have survived the attempt. I shall try again soon.”

“You could never own a dragon, son! Only Targaryens can own and ride them! It is common knowledge!” Gwayne raised his hands up as if he was giving up.

Aegon moved uncomfortably while Edmund shot him a glance full of hatred.

“What is it?” Queen Alicent asked, already sensing her own son’s involvement in this whole thing being much worse than she had expected.

“It was Aegon!” Edmund’s lower lip trembled suddenly. “He told us we could gain our own dragons, too! That we can claim the spare ones or Helaena’s since she has no interest in it!” He confessed.

Now everyone’s angry eyes were laid upon the young Prince. He huffed with an eye roll but his cheeks turned crimson red.

“I did not know,” he whispered. “I did not know that only we can ride them.”

You were filled with rage. Your eldest son liked to pretend he was more mature than the rest of his siblings but he was only twelve after all – he was still a child. Prince Aegon was the eldest out of the cousins and he should had known better.

“You have cruelly teased my children to risk their lives… To… To possibly lose them and die!” You approached him angrily and began to shake him by his arms. You couldn't care less that he was a Prince. You wanted him punished. “And now you are playing a fool by saying such a stupidity! You insolent son of a–”

“(Y/N),” Gwayne stopped you as he rushed to you and put his hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off.

“Edmund has a scar for life!” You sobbed again.

“Mother, I am alright!” Your son’s voice reached your ears.

“I did not know…!” Scared Aegon was trying to get out of your grip and Queen Alicent was attempting to help him by pushing your hands away.

“Lady Hightower, be reasonable!” She pleaded. “I shall punish my son accordingly but it is my punishment to give him, not yours!”

“My children could have died! All of them!” You screamed at her.

“Not me!” Florys squealed.

“Shush, my darling,” Otto scolded her gently. “All of us should calm down now. After all, everybody is alive, thank Gods,” he pointed out and you pushed Aegon away before angrily turning around.

The maester was no longer sitting by Edmund’s side and now you approached your boy to grab him by his shirt and drag him towards Otto.

“Look at him! My son nearly died!” You yelled at him. “Do not order me to calm down, Lord Father!”

“Mother, let go of me, it hurts,” Edmund whined and you stopped pulling him by his shirt but your whole body was trembling out of anger, fear and frustration. “Young Prince Aegon should learn how to treat other people, especially the weaker ones…” You patted your own chest with your fist and your son huffed at the word weaker. “...if you wish to put him on the throne!” You finished and the whole room went silent.

It was something that should not be said out loud. Thankfully, everyone inside the dining hall was on the same side when it came to the conflict of succession.

“That is enough, my Lady,” Gwayne shook his head and put his hands on your shoulders to walk you out of his surprised father’s sight. “I am sure Prince Aegon will be punished for his behaviour by his own parents.”

“I did not know, I swear!” Aegon whined. “I would not want cousin Edmund or cousin William to get hurt and especially not cousin Rosalynd!”

“Save it!” Queen Alicent scolded him angrily and slapped his face. “You have outdone yourself this time, Aegon!”

Gwayne was rubbing your arms soothingly and pressed you closer to his body by putting his hand in the back of your head. Your heartbeat was slowing down and your breath was coming back to normal.

“I think we should all agree to collectively remove Lady Hightower’s accusation from our memories,” Otto spoke calmly. “And that it is time to go back to our beds.”

All of your children approached you, clinging to your skirts, except for Edmund who felt stupid and guilty now, embarrassed. He was looking down and clasped his hands behind his back but Gwayne put his hand around his shoulders to pull him closer.

“Your grandfather is right, it is time to go back to our beds. If we manage to fall asleep after such a night,” he pointed out.

Prince Aegon did not show up for the breakfast and you were glad he did not because you would tear him apart if you saw him. Now, after taking a better look at your son’s injury in the morning light, you were heartbroken. His scar would probably look intimidating when he would become the fearsome knight he wanted to be but you were his mother and your heart ached for him. 

The breakfast overall was pretty quiet and after the meal Gwayne took your sons to the courtyard to continue their training while Rosalynd and Florys followed Queen Alicent to Princess Helaena’s chambers for the girls to embroider together. Rosalynd also hoped to try on some of Princess Helaena’s dresses. You considered not allowing her to take any as a form of punishment for yesterday's stunt but you eventually decided it would be too cruel.

You were asked by your father-in-law to see him after breakfast and you kind of dreaded the conversation because you had a feeling what it would be about. Gwayne wanted to accompany you but you disagreed because it would make you look weak and scared. You had to face Otto Hightower alone. Gwayne had reluctantly agreed but he had assured you that he would remain by your side no matter what your father-in-law would say to you.

On your way to his chambers, you walked past Prince Aegon’s room. The doors were ajar and he was sitting on the edge of his bed. At first, seeing him brought back all the memories from the last night and all the anger. But after a short while of staring at him, you noticed that he was… sad.

It confused you as you kept staring and in the meantime, he spotted your presence. He got startled a little, knowing that you were alone now since his guard was nowhere to be seen and his mother was not there to push you away if you attacked him again.

He approached the doors to close them but he kept glancing at you like a beaten dog and even dared to speak.

“Is my cousin alright, aunt?” He asked quietly, his voice filled with guilt and worry. Suddenly, you started to have a feeling he had not been lying. Perhaps he truly had not known about the Targaryens being the only people who could ride dragons.

It would not surprise you because your father-in-law had been complaining about Prince Aegon not wanting to study his books and his knowledge of High Valyrian was… questionable.

“Edmund is quite alright,” you nodded at him and took a step ahead before he would close the doors. “Can we talk?”

Aegon hesitated but he looked down and nodded, letting you inside. You entered his chambers and looked around, humming at the sight of a wine goblet on his nightstand table.

“I truly did not know about the dragons, I am sorry,” Aegon confessed. “I know I am of a rather careless nature but I would not risk my cousins’ life,” he added and you sighed.

After a short while of hesitation, you approached him and caressed his hair before putting a silver strand behind his ear and lifting his chin up to make him look into your eyes.

“I am sorry for my outburst, young Prince. I do believe you now,” you assured him with a soft smile. “It still was irresponsible and foolish but I see now that your intentions were not malicious,” you nodded and his eyes sparkled at your words.

“Really? You do believe me, aunt?” He couldn’t be convinced and it made you sad to see it.

“I do,” you moved your hand away from his face. “To see a scar on my son’s face is painful for a mother but I do realise he does not mind it at all and he is proud of how he gained it. Let it be then,” you sighed. “It cannot be undone anyway.”

A short while of silence occurred between you two and you smiled at Aegon before approaching the doors again.

“You should join uncle Gwayne and my sons in the courtyard, my Prince. They are training with Ser Cole and young Prince Aemond,” you encouraged him. “And I shall leave now to speak with your grandfather.”

Aegon nodded at you and you left his chambers to hurry to Otto Hightower’s room where he was already waiting for you. He gave you a scolding look when you entered.

“What took you so long, Lady Hightower?” He asked, sitting on an armchair by the fireplace.

“I was stopped on the way, Lord Father,” you explained calmly and he pointed at the armchair next to his. You took a seat there and waited for him to start the conversation.

“We shall speak about last night,” he started.

“I do believe it was your idea to remove my accusations from the memory,” you reminded and he shot you an unpleasant glance.

“I need to know where you stand,” he looked deep into your eyes.

“Where do I stand?” You furrowed your brows. “What does it matter?”

“You have a great influence on my son. Much bigger than a wife should have on any man,” Otto pointed out. “I need to know I can trust you.”

“Speak plainly, Lord Father,” you challenged him with a head held high. “And I shall tell you.”

Otto hesitated as he looked at the dancing flames for a while. You waited patiently until he eventually laid his eyes on you again with the most serious expression.

“Do you support Prince Aegon as the future King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men?” Otto lowered his voice – his whispers were nearly audible.

“I believe you wish to know if I support your treason,” you raised an eyebrow and Otto clenched his jaw. “I do,” you nodded. “Prince Aegon is half-Hightower and I shall always support my family,” you added and stood up. “Does that answer satisfy you, my Lord? I shall join my sons and husband in the courtyard. I have promised them to watch their training,” you explained.

“You can go,” Otto dismissed you and you turned around but then you stopped.

“Lord Father?” You looked at him one more time.

“Yes?” He looked up to meet your gaze with furrowed brows.

“I shall ensure that my own Lord Father – Lord Tyrell – supports King Aegon when the time comes,” you promised.

Otto only nodded at you and you nodded back before walking out of his chambers and hurrying downstairs to the courtyard.

You smiled at the sight of your boys being instructed by their father. Prince Aegon joined them in the meantime as well and you waved at them all before taking a seat on the bench as usual – to watch and cheer.

After giving your sons their instructions, Gwayne gave them some space and joined your side as he sat next to you.

“What did my father want from you, darling?” He asked, worryingly.

“He wondered about my loyalty,” you scoffed and looked up at your husband’s face to fix a reckless auburn hair strand falling onto his face. “As if I didn’t give him four grandchildren to inherit his wealth and titles. As if I didn’t run Oldtown in his name for years. As if I didn’t love his son with every heartbeat of mine,” you finished quietly and a slight blush brightened your husband’s cheeks.

“Last night must have frightened him,” Gwayne explained. “You were rather furious with Prince Aegon.”

“Every parent would be,” you rolled your eyes. “Were you not furious, too?”

“I was but I did not show it,” Gwayne pointed out.

“Every person reacts differently,” you shrugged. “Either way, such conflicts always happen sooner or later between the family members. I shall not take them outside,” you assured Gwayne and took his hand to squeeze it. “I gave birth to four Hightowers. How could I play on any other team?” You asked, genuinely.

Gwayne squeezed your hand back and moved a little closer to you, as much as his armour allowed him. You both watched your sons train with loving smiles on your faces.

At one point, young Prince Aegon looked at you and smiled at you nervously. You smiled back and waved at him even, which caused his own smile to grow wider. Poor boy had no idea what responsibility was being plotted to be put onto his back.

MASTERLIST

[kingorqueenofnarnia]

Narnia Headcanons

Queen Lucy the Valiant

Did not experience falling in love, and did not feel attracted enough to anybody to go for a casual relationship. She did pester Edmund about being in a relationship and drove him to madness— he already hated the number of suitors Susan had and thinking of people asking for Lucy made him fume even more. She took great amusement in riling him up with imaginary situations.

In Narnia, she was called Lucy the Lionheart, the Fanged Queen, the Merry Child, Queen Lucy the Healer, Lover of the People and more. She was known to be a happy person, always with a smile on her face, but also to be a lethal force in battle. She earned the name the Fanged Queen for her daggers— they were like a Lion's fangs in her skilled hands; fast, razor sharp and deadly.

Outside Narnia, she was known for her childlike smiles and her battle madness— the Child Queen, the Mad Queen, the Wild Child, Lucy the War Hungry, Bloody Lucy, the Merry Murderer and such terrifying titles. It was quite a shock for everyone who had heard her titles before meeting her, for she was nothing other than a little girl with the sweetest smile and the softest voice. Until, that is, the time for war came.

Peter's right hand when it came to battle strategy. Initially, it had been Edmund that had helped Peter, but as Lucy grew older they found she had a penchant for war, and Edmund immediately handed over the responsibilities to her to focus on the judiciary. People learnt very soon not to underestimate the 13 year old with dual daggers— she was as savage and deadly as a lion, and was not afraid to spill blood. Indeed, she was known to laugh as she killed on the battlefield.

Was the Spymaster of the espionage ring, and was extremely competent at it. She employed and trained unlikely creatures that would fly under the radar— Mice and Birds for their ability to appear dumb, Satyrs for their unassuming demeanor, Snakes for their stealth, and other small animals. It was the most successful spy organisation ever seen on the mainland.

Kept her hair short compared to the others. Went just below her shoulders, and had dozens of tiny braids following Peter's tradition. She braided white jasmines into her hair every morning for their smell, earning her the title the Crimson Jasmine after too many instances of the white flowers being drenched in her enemies' blood. When they fell out of Narnia, she had an impressive fifty-four braids— the highest out of all siblings.

Hated studying. Absolutely did not like to sit in one place poring over books for hours on end. She would rather be outside with the dryads and the satyrs, tracking the dumb animals through the forests on hunting expeditions.

Her favourite subjects were Strategy, Dancing lessons and Navigation— she was fond of sailing, and would usually accompany Edmund on his political journeys to the Islands and archipelagos. By the time she turned 16, she commanded her own fleet of warships, specifically to deal with the attacks on Narnian trade ships from pirates. She earned the title the Mad Queen for her daring and outrageous strategies to deal death on the sea.

Dancing with the Satyrs and the Dryads was her favourite passtime. If she was not on the sea and not in the archery range, she was in the forest, dancing around the fire in a circle. Her favourite dances were the Sword Dance and the fast paced Centaur's Canter.

Very often, she would assist Edmund with his ridiculous pranks. Equally often, she would blame him for her own pranks. Nobody other than the older pevensies ever believed that the sweet queen would ever prank anyone, which annoyed the three others to no end.

Playing Chess with Susan was also a treasured activity, for her. Often, the reason she came up with her outrageous battle strategies was that she had already thought of them when going up against Susan on the chessboard. Susan was a formidable opponent on the board and Lucy had to pull all the stops to defeat her. It helped when planning for actual war, and not to mention it was entertaining.

[promptthebear]

Edmund Pevensie, Soulmate AU

Part two of this

CW: Some violence but nothing super graphic. Some swearing. Serious enemies to lovers vibes. Telmar!Reader, so some physical description to match that sorry.

Cair Paravel was a testament of shining marble, fine tapestries and golden fixtures. It was the envy of many a nearby kingdom, most of whom had tried and failed to imitate its beauty. The same, however, could not be said of the dungeons.

The moment the dank, frigid air rose from behind the barred door, Edmund realized just how appealing his empty bed suddenly was. Everyone swore this part of the castle was haunted and though Edmund personally didn’t believe in such foolishness, he very much understood how those sorts of rumours came to be. He tried to stand tall and play at being courageous and stoic as he walked alongside the young guard down the winding steps, but his heart just wasn’t in it. Before long, Edmund found himself jumping at every distant sound and balking at every shadow cast in the flickering torch light, even when in fact said shadows were none other than his own.

Despite the fact that his young guard had been so anxious among the fine tapestries and clean rushes of the upstairs halls, the young man seemed completely comfortable among the dripping walls and dirt floors that created the bowels of the castle. He strode beside Edmund with an easy confidence, his grip on the torch he carried not wavering once, even when a rat ran nearly beneath his boot and announced its arrival with a piercing squeak.

When he managed to recover some of his wits and find enough voice with which to speak, Edmund asked the guard about it, more than a little curious on how such a skittish man could remain so calm in a place that left greater men shaking. By way of response, the youth merely shrugged and said “Everything that could hurt a fellow down here is already locked up, and the rats never bothered me none. S’far worse out in the forests”

While Edmund could see the guard’s side of things, he personally would have much rather been out in the forest tonight. He’d been riding those trails since he was a boy, and in that time he’d communed with all manner of creatures, magic and mundane alike. However, in his many years, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything quite like you.

Opposite to the castle in every way, the dungeons were incredibly small by the usual standard. They consisted in their entirety of three cells, while the rest of the space was mostly used as a recreational area for the various guards to play cards and the like. Usually, any prisoners awaiting trial were spread evenly between the three cells to avoid overcrowding and the potential for fights and disease to spread. That was not the case tonight, however.

Someone had taken the liberty of placing every inmate into the leftmost cell, and despite still having some room to move about or even lie down, the people locked inside had all crammed themselves into the back corner like bees in a hive. Edmund nearly thought the first cell was empty, until he caught a glimpse of several wide, fearful pairs of eyes that gleamed back at him in the ruddy torchlight. When he approached the cell to have a closer look, he was met with an eerie silence rather than the usual sighs, shuffling and coughs that occurred when you had a small crowd of people together. While Narnia was not known for housing a particularly nasty sort of criminal, the bulk of which were pickpockets and street hustlers, they were also not the type to scare easy.

Whatever was making these people frightened was bad enough that the guards had felt the need to keep the middle cell completely empty. This provided around ten more feet of space between the leftmost cell and the right most cell. Edmund stared between the middle cell and the occupied one on the left, trying to puzzle out what was so awful it had everyone this nervous. Even the guards seemed tenser than usual. They played hands of wist in almost completely silence, and had barely given Edmund a glance since he’d arrived. Normally, every soldier within spitting distance would be tripping over themselves bowing and trying to greet him.

Half expecting to find a dragon or an ogre, Edmund took a deep breath and approached the last cell. His boots made a hollow, tapping sound on the floor as he walked, each one an echo alongside the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

When he reached the padlocked door he stopped, and peered between the bars into the gloom. He could barely make out what was inside, if there was anything to begin with. An oppressive sort of darkness clung to this corner of the dungeon like cobwebs, making it nearly impossible to see anything farther than arm’s length away.

The torch that hung on the wall between centre and left cell had long since gone out. It sat, cold and forgotten in its sconce as though nobody had been willing to risk coming any closer to light it. Though it had been many years since Edmund had feared the dark, the sight of the blackened torch wasn’t a comforting one either.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the surrounded darkness, he caught his first glimpse of you. Edmund was immediately struck by the fact that, for whatever reason, someone had gone through the trouble of binding you up like a Christmas turkey. A pair of steel manacles had been clamped around your wrists, with a matching set around your ankles and a chain that looped between both so that you couldn’t sit upright properly, or move much at all really. There was also a rope twisted around your body in such a way that it bound your arms firmly to your sides, and forced your own legs to rest parallel with the legs of the wooden stool beneath you.

This set up alone would have been enough to hold back a drunken Minotaur, let alone a mere slip of a girl. Whichever one of the guards had shut you up in here clearly thought immobilizing you completely wasn’t good enough. A gag of rough spun cloth had been shoved between your lips and tied so tightly about your face, that it was tugging the edges of your mouth back towards your ears.

A bubble began to expand in Edmund’s gut, something that turned icy cold and burning hot in waves and made him feel as though he was about to be sick on the dirt floor. Memories came to the forefront of his mind, as though he had slipped into a waking nightmare. He could feel a gag against his own mouth, ropes biting at his wrists and the faint sounds of a war camp in his ears. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he had to rest his head for a moment against the cool metal bars to steady himself.

In the dark, Edmund could just make out the faint outlines of your face. He couldn’t read your expression, but he could tell that you were watching him. For a moment, he thought he detected a bit of sympathy in your eyes, a softness he didn’t expect. Then, you blinked and tossed your head in a haughty sort of manner, as though you didn’t give a shit if Edmund dropped dead right then and there.

Whatever he had seen in your eyes was quickly replaced by a steely sort of rage that seemed much more appropriate, given the circumstances. Disgusted with the situation and with himself, Edmund took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the guards.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice echoing about the otherwise silent room in a kingly fashion “You have her tied up as though she were some sort of wild animal!”

The guards stared at him dumbly, as though tying up young women was not only an ordinary occurrence for them but an entirely acceptable thing to do. Edmund took another deep breath, and bit the inside of his cheek to force back the frustrated scream that wanted to push its way out. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, it was a day that ended in y after all, and on those days, the guards always acted as though they hadn’t been born with any sense. Thankfully, the Captain stepped forward before Edmund began tearing his hair out in fistfuls.

“She may as well be, your majesty” he said, tugging at his beard while he spoke “She’s done nothing but raise hell and cause trouble since we picked her up by the docks. Screamed like a banshee the whole way down, and then flew at us like a little wildcat the second we opened the caged wagon. She’s a biter too, look what she did to one of my lads.”

From the corner of his eye, Edmund saw a young man leave the card tables and quickly approach, though the Captain had not officially summoned anyone. The soldier could have been the twin of the other guard who’d escorted Edmund from upstairs, save for the thick white bandage in place where his left ear should have been. Already, a large, dark red blotch was forming against the white cotton, and it was all Edmund could do not to flinch in sympathy.

“G’on boy, show his Majesty what’s happened.”

The boy shuffled nervously back and forth for a moment, before reaching up to unwind the bandages. It was slow work, parts of the fabric had stuck together with dried blood and with each new layer shed, the young man seemed to grow weaker and more pallid. When there was nothing left but a coil of stained cotton on the floor, Edmund took a deep breath and forced himself to have a proper look at the wound. After only a few seconds, he had to look away again, his stomach churning.

“Bloody hell.” he muttered under his breath.

The Captain gave a stiff nod in response, before placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder to hold him steady. Any colour in the boy’s face had completely drained by this point, his skin was as white as the bandages had once been and there was a sheen of sweat upon his brow. If it wasn’t for the Captain supporting him, Edmund truly doubted he would’ve been able to stand at all.

“You asked me why I had the girl locked up, your Majesty. Well, there’s your answer. Mark or no mark, I will not stand idly by and let some Telmarine harlot rip decent Narnian citizens to pieces.”

The mention of the word “mark” made Edmund’s ears prick up, but he tried to feign an appropriately sombre countenance and turned his attention to the matter at hand. Before he gave you any more thought, he had a tetchy captain and a young soldier ending the night with one less ear than he started with to worry about.

“Captain, believe me when I say your concerns are taken with the utmost severity and I will do everything within my power as Kings Justice to make sure any Telmarines remain mindful of whose land they’re docking their ships on. As for this young man, he will be given all the proper recognition and honour…once he’s been seen to by my personal physicians.”

For a moment, it seemed as though some colour returned to the lad’s cheeks, though that also could have been the torchlight playing tricks. At the very least, he managed to give Edmund a wan smile and a soft “Thank you, your Majesty” before he slumped against the Captain’s side and fell silent.

“Captain, have two of your men rouse Lucy and Tumnus. By happy circumstance, they are both here in the castle tonight. If they have any misgivings about the matter, tell them they are being summoned at my personal behest.”

The Captain gave a stiff nod in Edmund’s direction, before turning his head and letting loose a sharp whistle from between his teeth. The sound was still echoing against the stone walls when two more guards appeared. Without a word, they each slung one of the wounded soldier’s arms over their shoulders and guided him towards the exit. The Captain followed suit, stopping briefly to give some hushed instructions to another guard nearest to the door before he disappeared up the stairs.

With their direct superior gone, Edmund felt the eyes of the remaining guards immediately fall on him. As much as he wanted to let his chest drop back and slump his shoulders to regain a little comfort, he knew he must keep standing with his back rigid and his head held high. In his heart, he may have been nothing more than Edmund, a man in much deeper and much more frightened than he cared to admit. In the eyes of everyone else, however, he was still the King and would be expected to handle the current situation as such.

Sighing, he turned to the guard standing watch by the leftmost cell and cleared his throat to get the young man’s attention. The guard jumped slightly at the noise, as though Edmund had just woken him from a half sleep. It seemed an odd place to try and nap, by Edmund’s standards, but he supposed one could sleep anywhere once you were used to it.

“Your majesty?”

The guard’s voice betrayed his age, and it was all Edmund could do to keep his eyebrows from shooting up towards his hairline. If he managed to get through this without ending up in the infirmary or worse, then he’d have to have a word with the Captain about the youthfulness of his recruits.

“The keys around your belt, young sir. Give them to me, if you please.”

Despite his few years, the guard knew well enough how to take orders. Without protest, he unclipped the ring of keys from his belt loop and handed them to Edmund. They were heavier than Edmund expected, and somehow the weight of the metal in his palm was strangely reassuring.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned once more to face the rightmost cell. There hadn’t been a sound from you this entire time, and Edmund wasn’t certain if this meant you were subdued or simply lying in wait to ambush the next person stupid enough to try and approach. He only hoped that, no matter what happened, he’d be able to greet the dawn with all his extremities still attached.

You hated this country. You hated its people, it’s stinking cobblestone streets covered in horseshit, its passionless music and the bland, disgusting mush it tried to pass off as food. Most of all, you hated its idiot King and the stupid way he was looking at you.

You’d made it clear, or so you thought, that the next Narnian fool who came near you did so at the risk of his own well-being. And yet, here sat the King, no more than a foot or so away from you, hunched over on a simple wood stool and studying you like you were some sort of oddity in a menagerie. You glared back, wanting nothing more than to wrench free of your bindings and claw at his eyes so the last thing he’d ever see was the rage on your face. But those thrice damned guards had tied you up so tight you scarce had room to breathe. Not only was this a country of fools, but cowards as well, it seemed.

“I’m going to take this gag off your mouth now, and then we’re going to have a little chat, you and I.”

His words were a command, but the way he said it implied a question, as though you would give him an answer even if you could. It was all you could do not to roll your eyes. Even those with absolute power were spineless here, issuing their commands as though they required permission for them to be followed. If such a man tried to rule in Telmar, they’d be knocked on their arse and trampled by someone more capable who’d take their place in the blink of an eye.

When the King reached to remove the gag, your eyes immediately locked on his hands. You watched them with a frevored sort of intensity, preparing to use all the agility dipping into pockets and running cup and ball scams had taught you in your years on the street. As soon as you felt the knot around the back of your head loosen, you struck.

Your teeth closed around the flesh of the King’s wrist, and you clamped down hard on his forearm so he could not wrench free without causing further damage. You were rewarded with a yelp, a loud clear sound that reminded you of a pup being kicked. The taste of blood, thick and coppery, filled your mouth but you held fast despite your stomach twisting in disgust. It was only when the King brought his fist down sharply on the crown of your head and made white stars dance across your vision that you finally released him.

He staggered backwards, clutching your gag to his wounded arm and staring at you with wide eyes that betrayed a different sort of wound inside him. You wanted to laugh, but the bile in your mouth turned any sort of noise into a half choked gurgle. Clearing your throat, you turned your head to the side and spat onto the stone floor. The King’s blood turned the grey flagstone a pretty shade of pink.

“You vicious little bitch”

Surprise, fresh and delightful, tingled down your spine. Now that was unexpected. When you betrayed the King’s trust, at the least you figured he’d draw back and sulk like the Narnian dog he was. Instead, he was paying you back with the same coin, striking at you with his words as you had struck him just now. Perhaps there was more lion in him than you thought.

“Why would you do that?”

The commanding tone he’d lacked earlier had finally appeared. Despite the fact that he was dishevelled, bleeding and standing as far away from you as he could in these cramped quarters, this young man was actually starting to resemble someone you could recognize as a King. The fact that you’d managed to goad him into such a state so quickly pleased you immensely, and you couldn’t help but grin widely back at him.

“Because I hate you” you replied, almost cheerfully.

“Yeah, I gathered as much” he shot back, royal courtesy completely forgotten “But I’m only trying to help.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for it, and you’re a stranger who’s touching me without my say while I’m in a vulnerable position. Anyone else would have done the same.”

What the King said next made your shit eating grin falter slightly in place. Narnians had always confused you, but it seemed this one was playing a different game entirely.

“You’re…you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that without your consent. Are you feeling alright? How’s your head? I’m sorry I struck you.”

You stared at him as though he had sprouted wings and a tail. You were the one who had bitten him, hard enough that he was bleeding through the strip of fabric he was clutching to his arm. He must be hurting terribly, and yet he was asking after your welfare, and apologizing no less.

“I’m…fine.” you said, flatly, keeping your eyes trained away from his face “I’ve…you didn’t hit me that hard.”

“The fact that I hit you at all is unforgivable. May I have a closer look? If you’re injured, you really should be seen to by someone.”

You nodded, forcing your expression into a stern mask so as not to betray your confusion. This sort of treatment was completely alien to you, in your world kindness was for those who didn't have to worry about having crusts of bread snatched from their open mouths. It was a luxury only afforded to royalty and their ilk, like spices and fresh fruit.

When the King came to approach you again, he did so with slow, measured steps. At first, you thought it was because he was trying to avoid jostling his arm around. But, as you watched his lithe frame move through the ring of golden light from the torch he’d brought in earlier, realization hit.

He was frightened. Of you.

Immediately, your heart shot into your throat and your stomach dropped into the bowels of the Earth. You swallowed, hard, and turned your face away, pretending as though you were fascinated by the flickering shadows on the far wall. They danced like living things, their movements smooth and natural, and a part of you wished you could somehow join them.

You wanted nothing more than to slip your bonds and melt away into the shadows, but it was the stone in your gut you wished to escape, not the chains about your wrists. On the Talmoren streets, feelings were another luxury that you had little use for. Guilt was as new to you as kindness, and right away you misliked the acrid taste it brought into your mouth. In your twenty five years on the Talmoren streets, you’d stolen, lied, and cheated all in the name of survival. Those sins weighed no more on your heart than a raindrop would on the ocean. You’d done far worse to better men, and yet this Narnian wretch who you’d known for maybe an hour or more had your mind twisting itself in knots. Why?

The sound of the stool scraping against the stone floor drew you from your thoughts. You watched as the King righted his stool from the floor, and set it down across from you, though closer than it had been. He sat upon it with a deep sigh, and began to wrap his wounded arm with the linen gag.

The closeness allowed you a better look at the injury, which had already started to mottle purple and red with bruises around the edge. It made for a stark contrast against the King’s creamy, pale skin. An angry red flower on a field of snow.

You’d seen many similar hurts in your lifetime, some which you’d caused while others had been inflicted on you. Almost always, they resulted in a scar, the phantom outline of teeth remaining long after the open sores had closed up.

“You’ll need an apothecary for that, and a potion of honey and turmeric.” you blurted suddenly.

The King looked up at you, not even bothering to hide his startled expression. Something about the way his brown eyes widened and his lips formed a sort of rosebud shape was oddly endearing.

“Turmeric? I’m afraid I’m not familiar.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. This was a country of idiots, after all.

“It’s a root, from a plant. Usually it’s sold in a powder, but fresh is best. Turmeric draws any illness from a wound, while the honey helps it stick and will keep your skin from scarring. I have a sachet of it in my bag, provided your guards haven’t taken it for themselves.”

The King nodded in response. If your jab at his guards upset him, he didn’t show it.

“Thank you. That’s very kind. I’ll make sure we retrieve that for you, and I may want to have you speak with Lucy about this herb and it’s uses. I’m sure she’ll find the information very helpful in treating that young man you attacked.”

“Who is Lucy?”

“One of my sisters, the younger one actually. I have two, you’d know them as the Queens. There’s also Susan, she’s older than both of us.”

You turned this information over in your mind, silently comparing it with the little Narnian history you knew. Prior to now, the only King here you’d known about was the one they called Peter. His face was familiar to you, simply because it was stamped on one side of the copper coins you’d stolen from drunken sailors in the dockside taverns. Nobody in Telmar had ever spoken about any other Narnian royalty, though a healthy hatred of Peter was as common as dirt.

“So…who does that make you?”

The young King seemed to find this funny, letting out a wry chuckle before he finished tying the knot in the bandage around his arm. He did so quite skilfully, you noticed, and you wondered how much practice he’d had patching up himself or his men on the battlefield. Most of the Telmarine emperors could not boast of such skills. Matters of the body and healing it were considered beneath them, and tasks of those nature were left exclusively to apothecaries and sorcerers. Perhaps less soldiers would die fighting if their leaders took the time to help them.

“I’m Edmund,” the King said, his voice oddly gentle “What’s your name?”

You told him, and he repeated it a couple times, as though he was trying to taste the sound of it on his tongue.

“It’s very pretty,” he said, finally “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, will you allow me to have a closer look at your face?”

You nodded, knowing that if you opened your mouth you’d most likely say something vicious again. Of course he could have a look, it wasn’t as though you had a lot of choice in the matter being tied down as you were.

Edmund’s fingers were soft, softer than the hands of any man you’d ever known, though you could feel some callouses on spots where his sword hilt would chafe the skin. He probed your face cautiously, going across your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose with the practiced touch of someone who had done this many times before. For the most part, his expression remained neutral as he focused on the task at hand, but you did notice his eyes narrow slightly when he came across your split bottom lip.

If he had asked about it, you would’ve quickly implicated the guard you’d bit. Though he’d had a boyish and seemingly innocent face, he’d struck you hard enough to knock your teeth together when you’d spewed a string of curses at him during your arrest. The ones directed at his mother seemed to sting in particular, but he’d quickly lost his bravado after you’d torn his ear off when he tried to slap a pair of irons on you. It had taken three other grown men to subdue you, which was hardly a fair fight even if you’d fought like a hellion. Your chest still ached terribly from where they’d pinned you down by sitting on you, and you knew you’d sport a fresh crop of bruises in the morning

Eventually, Edmund moved his hands from your face and pushed them into the curls at your temples. He went slowly, not wanting to miss even the slightest bump or cut. After a short moment or two, he’d worked his way up to the crown of your head where he’d struck you earlier on. As his fingers brushed over a sore spot, you winced in spite of yourself, which made Edmund draw back as though he’d been burnt.

“I’m sorry. You’re certainly going to have a fair sized bump there tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too serious, but I’d like to have Lucy take a look anyway, just to be safe. I shouldn’t have struck you so hard.”

You shrugged, the chains about your arms clanking as you did.

“I bit you. I suppose we could call that even.”

Edmund smiled and something long dormant in your chest fluttered. You cast your gaze downwards, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t notice the burning in your cheeks. That was when your eyes alighted on something peeking out from the edge of Edmund’s collar.

“What is it?”

He may not have caught onto your blush, but he certainly didn’t miss where your eyes had gone. You really shouldn’t have been as surprised by this as you were. Narnians were known for their skills with swords, and the ability to be observant would have been part of that training.

“You have a…there’s something on your chest.”

Edmund blinked at you in surprise, and glanced down at himself.

“Oh. My mark. Here, let me show you.”

You watched with interest as his fingers opened the line of buttons down the front of his shirt. Each one revealed another inch of clean, white skin dusted with freckles and a healthy amount of fine, brown hair. You squirmed slightly in your seat, your cheeks feeling like an inferno.

At first, you’d thought what you’d spotted was a tattoo. Only now, that you could see it in full, unobstructed view and highlighted by the nearby torch did you realize you were wrong.

What decorated Edmund’s chest was by no means a tattoo. Rather than the black or brown ink you were used to seeing, the image was outlined in a shimmering gold. Though you had never took a needle to your own skin, you had a feeling even the most skilled of artists would not have been able to recreate such a rich colour. The way it sat on Edmund’s flesh was as natural as his freckles, as though he’d been born with it.

“And the purpose of this?”

Your voice echoed around the dungeon, which had somehow grown silent save for the sound of Edmund’s breathing and the faint crackle of the torches. From the look on Edmund’s face, you had a feeling you’d asked something incredibly unusual, which only served to confuse you further. Was this a Narnian custom? The longer you looked at the mark, the more it bothered you. There was something about it that tugged at your memory, like an itch you couldn’t quite reach.

“It’s my soul mark,” Edmund said slowly, as he began to button up his shirt again “Everyone has one. Even the centaurs and ogres and merfolk. You get one when you turn eighteen. Eventually, you’re meant to meet someone who has a mark identical to yours and that person is your soulmate.”

You shivered slightly, suddenly feeling as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head. This wasn’t a story you knew, but it felt as though you had heard if before anyway, like the echoes of a dream after you’d just woken up.

Your birthday had never been a celebration back home, not truly, but you’d been luckier than most to know the actual day upon which it fell. Usually the most you’d ever done when it came around was vow to live long enough to see your next one, though around seven years ago, something very unexpected had happened.

“I…Edmund…I think I have-”

The sound of his name on your perfect, full lips made Edmund feel lightheaded. There was a slight accent to your Narnian, which caused your voice to lilt in a way that was almost melodic. He was so entranced that he nearly missed what you were saying.

“You have a mark?” Like mine?”

You nodded, solemnly and bit your lip before speaking.

“It just…appeared one day. Around my eighteenth birthday, like you said. No one else in Telmar had one and I could never figure out what made me so different. When nothing else came of it, I forgot about the whole thing.”

So the guards had been telling the truth. Edmund brought a hand up to his forehead and massaged the crease that had appeared between his brows. He’d long since become accustomed to the idea that he’d be alone for the rest of his days. To have that changed so suddenly, especially by someone as complicated and unpredictable as you, he didn’t know what to make of it.

“May I see it?”

Some part of his mind still thought that maybe, this could be a trick. He’d open your shirt and find that the guards had talked you into letting them draw a donkey or something even more obscene on your skin for a bit of coin. But if that was the case, why had you attacked them? It seemed like an awful lot of trouble for a bit of sport.

“If you’d like.”

Now, it was Edmund’s turn to blush. You’d given your consent, and yet he couldn’t help but feel a little bit perverse as he reached to undo the top button of your collar. When you didn’t flinch away or try to bite him again, he continued, his hands shaking all the while. Your skin was warm beneath his touch, and softer than anything Edmund ever felt. Each opened button revealed another inch of smooth, bronze tinged flesh, along with a cream coloured shift and the tops of a pair of fair sized breasts.

The sight of those almost had Edmund running back upstairs to the safety of his room, when his eyes alighted on the tell tale golden lines just below your collarbone. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he reached out and gently tugged down the edge of your shift to get a closer look. He silently prayed that none of the guards took this moment to walk in, especially not the captain. He’d have a hell of a time finding a good reason to explain why he was practically peering down your shirt. It suddenly dawned on him why you may have given that young guard such a hard time, and any sympathy he’d had for the lad was pushed away by disgust.

“Aslan’s teeth.” he breathed

Sure enough, there it was. A lion, standing on its hind legs, mouth open in a snarl and a pair of crossed swords over its head. A perfect twin to Edmund’s, in size, colour, and location.

“Batshit and buggery,” he said again, parroting a favourite phrase of Peter’s.

You blinked at Edmund, trying to understand where this was coming from. He was staring at you as though every secret of the known universe had been writ there on your skin, and perhaps for him, it was.

“So, what does this mean?” you asked, hating how stupid you sounded.

“It means,” Edmund said, rising to his feet and reaching to tug at the knots that bound the ropes around your body “You and I are going to have a lot to talk about.”

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 7 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: an unhealthy paternal relationship and a deviation from canon as I don't think Archenland ever had chapels in the Golden Age. But we can't have a royal wedding without a chapel!!

Word count: 5.6k

White Moves First Masterlist | Main masterlist

Edmund ran down the corridor, the absurd frills of his blue and silver wedding doublet scratching at his neck. He should’ve known better than to trust Susan to give him something wilace, but that was not what he cared about now. Edmund tried to get the attention of the manservant walking past him, but the man didn’t notice him until Edmund grabbed his shoulder. “Where’s the king?” he asked.

“In his study, Your Majesty.”

Edmund took off down the hallway again. Of all days for the silversmith to go on a trip to visit his brother, why did it have to be today? The ceremony was going to start in less than an hour, and Edmund still didn’t have Y/N’s proper ring. It was supposed to arrive by courier this morning, and there was no sign of any courier, and the silversmith was gone. 

Was it Edmund’s fault? Had Edmund designed too complicated a ring for too short a time? He’d wanted the ring to be special and completely unique, something that Y/N could be proud to wear. Now, because he was so particular, she wasn’t going to have a ring for the wedding.

Which was unacceptable and entirely his fault. Two of his least favorite things. 

Edmund burst into the study. “Your Majesty–” He stopped in the doorway, seeing the desk empty. He scowled. Why would the manservant have said that King Loon was in the study when–

“Well, if it isn’t the groom himself.”

Edmund’s spine stiffened as he slowly turned to see the foreign prince who sat on an armchair, legs crossed and fingers swirling a glass definitely not holding water. Rabadash’s fashionable ensemble was neat and lacked any of the stifling ruffles of Edmund’s as well as any sweat stains like the ones Edmund could feel underneath his arms that he hoped were discreet. 

Rabadash rose from his armchair with smooth ease. “Does the Just King need directions to the stables for a quick getaway?” 

Edmund took a deep breath. 

It was not worth it. 

Not today.

He wheeled around and left. At first he thought only his heart was beating in his ears, until the sound of footsteps grew loud. “Don’t fret, Your Majesty, I assure you the princess will not be lonely in your absence.” 

Don’t answer, Edmund commanded himself. There are bigger things to worry about. Like Y/N’s ring. 

“Of course, my company would not be able to ease the pain in your heart.”

Edmund whirled around. “What in blazes are you going on about?”

“Do you love her?”

“I wouldn’t be marrying her if I didn’t,” Edmund snapped before he even had a chance to think about it. 

Rabadash chuckled, his eyes flicking to the ceiling like it would start laughing along with him if it could. “You don’t even understand how true that statement is.”

“Do you have anything of substance to say,” Edmund’s hands curled into fists, “or will you continue to prattle? Because I’m needed in the chapel shortly.”

Rabadash lifted his hand, showing off his much too long, yet perfectly manicured nails on fingers that had never done a hard or honest day’s work in their life. “You and your precious princess should know: I love a good challenge. Marrying her simply because of you would be too easy.”

Edmund started to turn away before Rabadash’s words fully registered, and he hovered. He wanted to keep walking, to pay Rabadash as much attention as the prince deserved, which was far less than he’d already gotten. But this concerned Y/N.

“What do you mean?” Edmund demanded.

“Oh, did Y/N not tell you?” 

Edmund kept his anger in check, knowing that a bland expression was far more antagonizing than an angry one. This crooked-nosed knave was trying to divide the two of them. Well, it wouldn’t work. Y/N would never keep information from him.

Would she? 

“Tell me what?” 

Rabadash leaned against the wall, clearly relishing Edmund’s attention despite the casual airs he was trying to put on. “I only wanted her because of you. If she was in Tashbaan as my wife, you would never allow Narnia to attack, because no matter how upset you were about your barbarian sister, risking Y/N’s life would be unthinkable. A lifelong hostage to secure my country’s well being.”

Edmund didn’t realize he was holding his breath until pressure started building in his chest. Rabadash had set his claims on Y/N because of him?

“The stoic,” Rabadash stepped closer, “level-headed,” another step, “mighty King Edmund.” He spread his hands, showing off for an imaginary audience. “The man capable of winning any negotiation leapt onto a dance floor to save one woman from a Calormen prince.” Rabadash lowered his arms, his smile somehow becoming more sinister. “And it wasn’t his sister.”

Edmund thought back to the ball, trying to recall when Rabadash had danced with Susan, but while he could list off every one of the nine dances Rabadash had partnered with Y/N for, he didn’t even have a memory of Susan on the dance floor at all.

“You showed your cards, King Edmund. All of this would’ve been easier if you’d just let me have her, but no.” The prince’s voice lowered to a whisper: “The Tisroc, may he live forever, has agents in the Narnian court.”

Edmund’s blood turned icy in his veins as the prince’s face darkened, hinting at the void of evil resting in this one man. 

“It wouldn’t take much, you know. An unlocked bedchamber door…a sleight of hand over a wine goblet…an unaccompanied walk in the gardens…and a marriage is over almost before it began.”

Edmund reeled away, putting as much distance between himself and Rabadash as he could. The faster he moved, the less likely it was that his fist would become enthusiastically acquainted with the prince’s nose. 

Y/N.

He had to find her. 

Not caring what the prince thought, Edmund broke into a run. 

-

I stared out of my drawing room window at the Northern mountains as I had many times before. Except now, I knew with certainty I would pass through those mountains to see the beautiful country on the other side. 

Narnia. 

Nerves fluttered in my stomach, reminding me that I hadn’t been able to force down my breakfast this morning, nor my dinner last night. When night fell, I’d lain in bed, worrying about whether or not my dress would be completed in time. 

As I gently ran my fingers along the soft taffeta of my bodice, I knew I needn’t have worried, and yet I was quite sure I would’ve found something else to worry about, like forgetting the vows that my father had written for the ceremony. Memorizing them had rankled every part of me, but I was grateful enough to Edmund for convincing my father to let me say vows that I couldn’t complain. Not when I was about to leave this castle. The vows would be the last time my father spoke for me. 

I heard the latch of the drawing room door lift. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet, Rona,” I sighed. “We still have another half hour to wait at least.” There was no answer, but I was quite content to draw comfort from the mountain line in silence. I might never see them again from this side. 

“Princess.”

The familiar voice so dear to me had me turning in an instant.

My fiance hovered just inside the doorway, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been running. “Edmund? What are you doing here?” Even as I asked, I laughed a little at the idea of Lord Trane’s face if he were to know that Edmund had seen me in my wedding dress before the wedding.

Edmund looked at the dress, looking more and more like he’d swallowed a frog.

“Do I look very nice?” I asked mischievously, referencing our conversation in the gardens after the ball. But my teasing didn’t make Edmund relax or smile.

“Y-you look…I mean…it’s…” 

“Edmund?” I stepped forward, concerned about his shallow, rapid breathing. Something wasn’t right. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but Rabadash is here–everyone is here, and they’re all gonna stare at us as we get married and they’ll be watching us for the rest of our lives–and your ring–a-and your father–”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Edmund!” He buried his face in his hands, and I ran to him, placing my hands on his elbows, trying to coax his hands away from his face, but his stance was rock-solid. “How can I make this better?” I asked, feeling so helpless. 

“I don’t know.” His muffled words were so stressed, it made me feel sick. 

I lifted my hands to his head, taking off his crown and setting it on my chessboard right next to me before soothingly brushing his hair back like Rona did once when I was sick. “It’s not too late,” I whispered. “We can still call off the wedding.”

“Absolutely not,” Edmund croaked, pulling his hands away from his face, allowing me to see the deep distress written there. “I won’t leave you vulnerable to Rabadash.” He looked off to the side. Three times he opened his mouth, and three times, I was greeted only by silence. 

My anxiety rose. “What is it?”

Edmund lifted his troubled eyes to mine. “I have uncovered Rabadash’s motives for pursuing you. His observations led him to discover my affection for you and…he believed if he possessed you as his wife, I would never allow war between Narnia and Calormen.” He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. “I’m the reason he was trying to marry you.”

Rabadash’s words from my confrontation with him came floating back. A look is all it takes to know when a man is in love. But Edmund’s panicked expression looked nothing like what I imagined love to look like. Combining his panic with the sudden epiphany he seemed to be having, I knew. “You talked with Rabadash.”

“I tried not to. I tried to walk away, but then he came after me, spouting nonsense about me backing out and how he would,” Edmund’s mouth contorted with repulsion, “comfort you in my absence, and he said that you knew his true motives and didn’t tell me.” 

My gaze fell to the floor, and distantly I realized Edmund was wearing new shoes. 

“You did know.” The disappointment in his voice ripped at me. “Y/N, why in the world wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I should have, especially before you proposed. I-I just didn’t want you to feel…responsible.”

Edmund raked his hands through his hair, making it stick up in comically asymmetrical directions. “But I am responsible. I’m the reason you were ever in danger of marrying him, my treatment and attention put you at risk, not to mention it’s my country he’s trying to overcome. That makes it my solemn duty to do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe.” 

Duty.

“Edmund, I…” I didn’t know what to say. It was just like him to do the right thing at the expense of himself. “You didn’t want a marriage. You shouldn’t change that just for some perceived injustice.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “protecting you is one of the only things that could persuade me to marry at all.” 

A fleeting warmth filled my chest, but it was quickly snuffed out by guilt. “We shouldn’t do this, I cannot ever repay the debt I would owe you if we married, not even–”

“Y/N,” Edmund interrupted. “You do not owe me any debt. If anything, I owe you–”

“No,” I insisted, “how could you possibly–”

Abruptly, we both stopped talking long enough to meet each other’s eyes before laughing. “This is not the future either of us imagined,” I ventured when our laughter stopped.

Edmund’s mirth faded to obvious unease. “Soon we’ll be standing in front of the world, publicly declaring our…”

Love.

“Fidelity.”

My lips twisted at the choice of words, but I couldn’t hold any grudge against Edmund for it. Not with what he was about to do for me. If only we could marry without the onlookers, without all the ceremony. To start a marriage with a performance isn’t something I ever hoped for or something that the sweet, honorous king in front of me deserved. 

Then, an idea started to take shape. 

I licked my lips nervously. “What if…we make our promises here?” 

Edmund blinked. “Huh?” 

I had to withhold a laugh. Whether it bubbled forth from his somewhat adorable confusion or from a bit of hysterics, it wouldn’t be helpful. “We make our true vows now, without anyone watching and without any pretenses.” I gazed at the door. “When we walk out there, we’re a king and a princess, but here, we’re…us. And when we’re talking about the rest of our lives, it’ll be us. Not Rabadash, not my father, not even Archenland and Narnia. Us.” 

I almost could feel the king’s mind racing as it molded itself into an understanding of my words. The suspicion of his expression didn’t lift, but I knew him well enough to know his suspicion often ran alongside his intrigue. “So what would we promise?”

“Ummm.” I wracked my brain, trying to think of the right thing to say. Should I promise loyalty? To bring honor and prosperity to his kingdom? To maintain a happy home for him? But then I looked at my friend, taking in his freckles and soulful brown eyes, and my frenzied thinking slowed. I didn’t want the flowery and unrealistic promises that my father had penned for us, and nor did he. The grand gestures were for the chapel, not this room. My eyes fell upon my beloved chessboard, and the words came to me. “I promise to keep beating you in chess.”

My flippancy was rewarded with a smile and a snort. “You can promise to try.”

Together, we giggled, and I felt my heart lighten enough for my next statement. “I promise to keep believing in you. Whatever plans you set your heart on, I will encourage you and never let you forget your strengths.”

“Or my weaknesses?” Edmund’s mouth curved into a wry smile. 

I smiled back at him. “Oh, we can let those slide.”

“Not entirely, I hope,” he hurried to say. “I wouldn’t want my head to grow too big for my crown.” 

“Your siblings are too similar to mine for them to ever allow that.” 

The room was silent for a moment as Edmund’s gaze locked on mine. “I promise to keep you safe. I will protect you from any threat, whether in the form of a contemptuous prince from Tashbaan or otherwise.”

I tilted my head at the unexpected energy behind his words. “You can promise to try,” I echoed. “But if something happens to me, you don’t get to punish yourself.” 

Edmund shook his head slowly, and I knew there was no way to budge the determination in his eyes. There was no doubt that he would defend me strenuously, though I wasn’t sure what threats possibly awaited me at Cair Paravel.

My turn again. 

With the guilt of withholding Rabadash’s motives from Edmund, I knew what to say next. “I promise to always tell you the truth. If or when you ask for my opinion, I promise to give it as I mean it.”

The change on Edmund’s face was subtle: the ever so slight widening of his eyes and the parting of his lips. I knew the wheels of his mind spun as he processed the words I’d just uttered. 

For a split second, I wavered. Was that the wrong thing to say? I was certain that my mother had never uttered such a promise to my father, and if she had, my father would’ve been insulted, perhaps even angered by such audacity.

Then the corners of Edmund’s mouth turned up, a breathy laugh escaping. “You are sensational, you know that?”

I chuckled, feeling simultaneously self-conscious and relieved. “I am not sure of that.”

“Then I promise to never let you forget. That is what spouses are to do, right?” Edmund took both my hands, his thumb fiddling with the silver signet ring resting on my pointer finger. “Hearten and inspire?”

“I guess so.” I kept my eyes lowered. “I vow to look the other way if you take a lover.”

Edmund sucked in a breath, jerking his hands away from me. “Don’t–”

“It needs to be said,” I whispered. Edmund shook his head violently from side to side, rejecting my promise as vigorously as he could without words.  “Edmund, I know you. Someday, there will be a woman, a very lucky woman, and you will love her with all of your heart. And I won’t stand in the way of that.”

“Y/N–”

“I mean it.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“Nothing about this is how it’s supposed to be.” Edmund’s face fell, and I bit down on the inside of my cheek. I’d insulted him, and I hadn’t meant to. “I don’t want this to be suffocating,” I said slowly. “I don’t want to be someone that holds you down, I want to be someone that lifts you up.”

Edmund finally looked at me, his posture more burdened than before. “I will look the other way too,” he said finally. I wanted to argue, to assure him I would not—could not be with any other man—but this was him fighting to give me something he’d always fought to give me. 

Equality. 

“Very well,” I conceded. 

“I promise to do what you ask of me,” Edmund said slowly. “If you make a request that is within my power, I shall grant it.” Such a promise shouldn’t be made lightly, and I knew by my friend’s face that he’d thought it through and meant every word. 

I picked up Edmund’s crown from my chessboard and smoothed his hair down. “You seem calmer.”

“I feel calmer.” Edmund bent down slightly to allow me a better vantage point to properly set his crown on his head. “Are you ready?”

“There’s…something else.” I took a steadying breath, letting my hands fall away from him. “Children.” Edmund immediately ducked his head, red sweeping across his cheeks. His face likely felt as hot as mine, but I plowed forward. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but if we’re going to go through with this, we must talk about it first.”

“Alright.” Edmund rolled his shoulders. “Children aren’t…necessary. I am only one of four monarchs. I do not have to…produce an heir.”

I chewed on that for a moment. “But are they…wanted?” I didn’t receive an answer. “I know you didn’t want a wife, so it’d be fair to assume you don’t want children either.”

Nervous hands adjusted the ruffles at his neck. “I haven’t desired children.” He looked up warily. “Do you want them?” I gnawed on my lip. Edmund didn’t want children, so was there any point in bringing up–

“Y/N,” Edmund said softly. “You promised me honesty if I asked for it.” 

I forcefully pushed my breath out of my mouth in a long sigh. “Yes. I want them. Not right away, but…eventually.”

Edmund bobbed his head nervously, nodding along to my sentiment. “Then…I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”

My knowledge was admittedly limited, but based on an awkward conversation I’d overheard between my brothers, I was pretty sure there was only one way to make children happen.

Edmund scratched his neck. “I, uh, I designed a ring for you, but it hasn’t arrived, so…we may have to use the signet ring again today.”

He designed it? My curiosity rose, though I was careful to remain reassuring. “That’s alright.” I flashed him what I hoped was a warm smile as I wiggled his signet ring off my pointer finger and dropped it into his palm. “I quite like–”

The bells rang, startling both of us. As they tolled, I felt the weight of every ring. The signal of the ending of our lives up to this point and the beginning of a new life neither one of us had expected. 

“We have to go,” I said, dizzied by the rushing return of my nerves. 

“Yes.” Edmund lifted his head, looking much calmer and nearly resolute. “There is more for us to decide upon, I know, but for now, we’ve made a good start.” He nodded to himself. “We will work everything out.”

The door burst open, and there stood Rona, breathing heavily. “There you are, my lady.” Then her eyes fell on Edmund. “Oh dear,” she said quietly. 

Edmund merely held a hand up to his lips and slid past her. 

She watched him go, her expression filling with dismay. “Bad luck, milady!” she exclaimed once he was gone.

I grinned. “The king and I are making our own luck today, Rona.” I gazed out at the mountains again. “And it’s already quite a serendipitous day.”

-

Rona ushered me in front of the closed chapel doors. “Your father will be waiting at the altar for you, so you will be walking by yourself. When the doors open, that’s your cue!” With that, she scurried off, perhaps to reach her seat before I started my procession. 

My first time inside the chapel’s tall, imposing walls was when I was christened as a baby, but the first time I could remember was the ceremony for my mother’s death. My father had warned me not to fuss, to stand straight, and ‘for heaven’s sake not to cry’. 

Since then, the chapel had proved to be the prime hideout to shed the tears and speak the words I wasn’t allowed to elsewhere. The stained glass windows, the pews, and the great, golden statue of the lion were all great listeners. But there would be no tears today and every spoken word had been chosen for me.

I looked down at my dress, at the long sleeves that hugged my arms and the flowing skirt that ended just before it met the floor, committing the moment in memory. 

The telltale creak of the doors as they opened made me look up, and I froze at the sheer number of people standing at the pews, staring back at me. Blinking at them, I tried counting, but there were too many faces. For every face I recognized, there were five I didn’t. There weren’t even seats for them all, some of the less fortunate having to stand beside the walls. Why had my father invited so many? 

A gradation of harp notes played a sweet tune, spurring me to step into the chapel. 

My father beamed at me from his place at the top of the dias at the end of the aisle, just in front of the statue of Aslan. Edmund waited for me at the foot of the three stairs, looking so regal and composed that I didn’t know whether to envy him or worry that my nerves and dread made us an unequal match. 

As I reached the halfway point, I finally noticed Edmund’s sisters sitting on the right side—the groom’s side—and my brothers sitting on the left. While Queen Lucy lifted a quick hand to her already teary eyes, my brothers’ eyes were sharp. Following their gaze, I noticed Prince Rabadash leaning against the wall beside Queen Susan’s pew. 

When he saw me looking, he inclined his head. 

I quickly averted my eyes, trying to push the Calormen prince out of my mind. He may have been the reason for this wedding, but he would not be the center of it. 

It felt like an eternity before I reached Edmund. “I forgot to say,” he whispered as I took his hand, “you do look very nice.”

Instantly more at ease, I grinned at him as I held up my skirts to step up on the dias. As we faced my father, the king, my smile softened. Weddings were special days for fathers and daughters. For all that led up to this moment, it would still be a special day. 

“I think some part of me always knew this day would come,” my father began, looking at me with something so similar to pride, it nearly made my throat close. “King Edmund and my daughter have always had such a special bond, it seems this day was inevitable.” He placed his hands over his heart, looking over at the man holding my hand. “But to call King Edmund my son-in-law is a privilege I feel unworthy of.”

My smile slipped, and I lowered my eyes, trying to get my feelings under control before the guests could notice. 

“Putting feelings aside, this day will go down in history as the day Narnia,” my father gestured towards Edmund, “and Archenland,” and then gestured to himself, “swear loyalty to each other for many years to come.”

I reached down to grab Edmund’s hand, only to find that it was already waiting for me. He held on tight enough to keep me steady as I stared at my father. Look at me, I pleaded. Look at your daughter as she’s getting married. 

But my father’s attention was wholly claimed by the crowd. The pride emanating from him was directed at them, proving that this wedding was not a celebration, but an opportunity for my father to show off. 

Raising my eyes, I noticed that at least the lion statue’s eyes seemed to look upon me. 

“Now the groom shall take the bride’s hands.” 

I stiffly turned to face Edmund, thankful for the anchor that was having his warm hands holding mine. 

“King Edmund, your vows,” my father prompted.

Edmund looked at me, and though his face was placid, I could sense his reluctance to recite whatever pompous and overdone words my father had chosen. 

"Today, in front of these witnesses, I, King Edmund of Narnia, take you, Princess Y/N of Archenland, as my wife.” Here Edmund paused, the small muscle above the right side of his top lip twitching. “I pledge to thee my unwavering love, my unfailing sword, and my undying service from this day forth. I will be thine companion, in great wealth or want, in much joy or sorrow, until death us do part." His voice rang out clearly, and my ears caught the sound of multiple sighs from the more sentimental guests. 

Apparently, they didn’t think my father’s expectations for ‘unfailing sword’ and ‘great wealth’ were as obvious as I did. Nor would they see the way my father’s nostrils flared for a moment as our eyes met. “Princess Y/N.” He glanced at the guests. “Your vows?”

In the resulting silence, I knew those sitting amongst the chapel pews were exercising much restraint in not immediately leaning into each other and whispering. 

I squared my shoulders, meeting Edmund’s eyes, which urged me to just spit out the vows and get it over with. We’d already made the vows that mattered. My words were just part of the show, not part of my marriage. 

“Today, in front of these witnesses, I, Princess Y/N of Archenland, take you, King Edmund of Narnia, as my husband.” I took a deep breath. “With…nothing else to give but my heart, I pledge to thee my unwavering faithfulness. As the great lion binds wisdom, so do I bind my life to thee, in love and honor, until the very last of my days.”

It was humiliating. Absolutely humiliating. 

My father’s vows focused on Edmund’s ‘unfailing sword’ and ‘great wealth’, yet I had ‘nothing else to give but my heart’? And why had my father written Edmund’s vows to end when death parted us, yet mine lasted until the end of my life? 

I blinked away frustrated tears. My friends—the windows, the pews, and the statue—were not the only observers today, and I would not have my father twist my bitterness into tears of joy for all those watching. Edmund squeezed my hand, and I knew from the same twitching above his lip that he regarded my father’s words with a distaste rivaling mine. 

“Now the groom will place his ring on the bride.” Edmund slid his old signet ring on my ring finger. It felt wrong on that finger, and not just because it was too large. “And the bride shall place her ring on the groom.” Again, I could feel the astonishment of all the guests, but Edmund held out his hand, smiling at me as I slid the plain silver ring onto his finger. The sight of it there was strangely gratifying. 

“Now, with the authority vested in me by the great lion, I now pronounce you, husband and wife!” My father clapped his hands. “King Edmund, you may kiss your bride!”

I stared dumbfounded at Edmund who stared back.

Kiss.

We hadn’t talked about the kiss.

I’d forgotten. 

How could I have forgotten?

A kiss was a staple in every wedding ceremony. 

My heart tumbled into a furious pace. I’d never kissed anyone before, and the fears started flooding in. Did people’s noses bump together when they kissed? Could you taste what someone ate for breakfast? Was it possible to run out of air? Would it hurt?

No. No, this was Edmund. It couldn’t hurt…could it?

-

Edmund had no clue what to do. He’d kissed a girl back in England, but not since he’d come to Narnia. Centaurs and fauns weren’t his type. And now he had to kiss his closest and dearest friend in front of a crowd? 

He wanted this—the mark of the beginning of the rest of their lives—to be good for Y/N. Or at least not horrible. Oh Aslan, what if it was horrible? What if their marriage had a horrible start? And what if she never wanted to kiss him again? 

A quick kiss. A momentary kiss. A barely-there kiss. Something so respectful that it could barely count as a kiss. Yes, that was the way to go.

With a gulp, Edmund leaned forward. He was perhaps two moments away from touching his lips to hers when he remembered: Rabadash was somewhere in this chapel. A man who could use anything as evidence and even more as motivation.

This was another chance, just like in the garden, to show that Y/N wasn’t and would never be Rabadash’s. 

Maybe Y/N would hate him for it. But maybe she would be safer. And maybe that chance was worth it. 

Edmund’s hands found Y/N’s neck, his thumbs gently tilting her chin up as he tipped his head to the side. The intent was only for the ease of reaching her lips, of guiding her to him, but then he glimpsed a flash of her scar, bringing him straight back to the drawing room and the gardens and every other time he’d been this close to kissing her. And now he was actually doing it. His mind went blank just before his lips met heaven. 

-

The brush of our lips was tentative. I hoped with every fiber of my being that Edmund couldn’t feel my shaking, nor the great grip I had on his doublet. 

Oh, I thought as Edmund pulled away. So our noses don’t collide. 

Then he pressed his lips to mine more firmly. My anxiety skyrocketed as the guests cheered, making my limbs lock tight. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? It didn’t feel like I’d expected it to feel like. Was this a dream? Was I about to wake up and find out this whole thing had been a dream?

His grip on my face tightened ever so slightly, a great tingling starting in my stomach as my heart raced. My face and neck were so warm, I was worried they might burn Edmund’s hands, certainly his thumbs as he brushed them along my jaw. Then as his lips pulled away and returned a third time, one of his hands left my neck to cradle my back, pulling me in tighter as the skin of my back beneath his hand smoldered.

This time, when Edmund pulled back, I leaned forward, winding my arms around his neck as I relaxed into his touch, the racing thoughts slipping away. Was I floating?

-

Edmund pulled away, cursing his own weakness in such an important moment. That was not a barely-there kiss, and if Edmund wasn’t already married to Y/N, he’d certainly have to wed her after a kiss like that. 

The raucous, ear-splitting cheering of the guests meant nothing to him as he anxiously searched Y/N’s face.

Her eyes were still shut. Why were they still shut? Had he hurt her? Or made her uncomfortable? The idea of doing either made Edmund shake inside. 

But when her eyes fluttered open, she gave a small giggle, almost too quiet for him to hear amongst the noise of the guests. The tension drained away from his body as he stared at her with overpowering relief that weakened his knees.

They’d done it, they’d made it through the ceremony. 

“Everyone is invited to a wedding feast in the Great Hall!” Y/N’s father proclaimed to the crowd, who cheered louder in response, who started filing out. King Loon hastened to walk around the couple, diving into the crowd, likely to try and find the influential guests before they sat down to eat. 

“You alright?” Edmund said quietly. 

“Yeah,” Y/N said, a bit breathlessly. “Are you?”

Edmund looked down at his friend…his wife and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

-

Hopefully the kiss wasn't cringy, lol. Here's Part 8!

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

White Moves First tag list:

@thelifeofsecretpenguins @read-just-cant @chesh-ire-cat @emotionallyattachedteen @cassini-among-the-stars @uncontainedsmiles @mastermasterlist1p1 @goldfishinpainttubes @silverowl102 @daisyslife

[bethanydelleman]

Do you think the Bertrams would change if they had a neighbor with kids around their age who insisted upon visiting them and/or socializing with them as they grew up? I will admit I am mostly thinking of this for “divert Fanny from falling in love with Edmund” reasons but also I think part of the Bertrams’ problem, at least for the girls, was just how tiny their world was. Lady Bertram refusing her duties of visiting really did a number on their social lives! The boys at least could go to school and make friends there.

It seems like Tom at least knows people in their neighborhood, he has a bunch of possible names for people to play Anhalt, so the Bertrams aren't entirely isolated. We also know that Maria, Julia, and Edmund attended balls in Northampton, where they likely interacted with their neighbours as well. This sentence implies that the Miss Bertrams were known: The Miss Bertrams were now fully established among the belles of the neighbourhood. The only person truly isolated is Fanny, who does not attend the balls or seem to have any friends.

However, I do think more socialization would have done the Bertram girls good, specifically beyond their neighbourhood where they wouldn't have been the biggest fish in the pond. I think going to London for the season regularly would have made a really big difference. Maria marries imprudently because she wants to be out in the world. She and Julia also would have already encountered men like Henry Crawford and known what they were playing at.

I would really hope that if the Bertram family interacted more beyond their circle, they would also treat Fanny better, but it's possible she would still mainly remain with Lady Bertram, limiting her chances of meeting other people.

[romancemedia]

I am a HUGE lover of fanfiction. I've always loved reading the stories so many people have created over the years and have ALWAYS found them to be a huge comfort. It helps to soothe the soul and you get the chance to rewrite or create your own piece, bringing the story you want to life after a show/movie let you down. Ironically though as much as I love fanfiction and have so many of my own ideas, I'm just terrible at writing my own stories... which brings me to the point of my post.

I'm going to share my fanfic ideas and anyone who likes them, feel free to bring them life if you want. Right now at the moment, it's a lot of Tangled (New Dream) related ideas. There were so many things I wish the series could've done... but never did.

What if Rapunzel and Eugene did get engaged in Cassandra's Revenge? And how different would Season 3 be if they had taken that route?

Eugene gets a rival when a royal prince arrives as a suitor for Princess Rapunzel. (Set in Season 1)

Everyone in Corona finds out Eugene is the Long-Lost Prince of the Dark Kingdom (King Frederic, Queen Arianna, The Captain, Pub Thugs, Varian etc.)

Eugene getting to know and bonding with King Edmund. (I NEEDED SO MUCH MORE)

The Brotherhood (Quirin, Adira and Hector) find out Eugene is the Prince of the Dark Kingdom.

Stalyan returns, tries to steal Eugene for herself and Rapunzel is jealous again! (I always HATED The Eye of Pincosta episode)

Eugene learns more about his mother, The Queen of the Dark Kingdom.

When Eugene's royal lineage is revealed, neighboring princesses currently visiting Corona become infatuated with the long-lost prince, making Rapunzel jealous.

My favourite ideas are these two...

Rapunzel and Eugene are finally planning their wedding, but are having trouble dealing with their families. Rapunzel is trying to deal with her mother and Aunt Willow (similar to the Way of the Willow) while Eugene is dealing with Edmund and Frederic about wedding customs from Corona and the Dark Kingdom. The couple becomes annoyed and frustrated, especially when their parents aren't listening to their ideas. Rapunzel and Eugene sneak away to spend time together, but their families get the wrong idea and think they're ELOPING! (Related to my first idea if they had gotten engaged in Cassandra's Revenge)

Eugene returns to Corona after being gone for a few days and everyone is surprised to find he made a new friend along the way... Daphne, a beautiful singer (who is also skilled in self defense) who has arrived to perform a special concert for the upcoming royal ball. Eugene and Daphne have already become close friends in the short time they've known each other with Daphne having a good understanding of Eugene's feelings... causing Rapunzel to become jealous and insecure. However, the princess is unaware that Eugene is planning a special surprise for Rapunzel with Daphne's help.

Anyone who like these ideas feel free to try and make them come to life if you want to. I'd be very grateful and honored to anyone who would be willing to try and if one does create one, please tag me so I can read them.

[dollypopup]

fuck it, gonna do it myself since the showrunners refuse to

Colin Bridgerton Background and Headcanons

+Colin was a chubby child, but became super lanky around his pre-teens, just before he went to Eton

+He would play piano with Francesca for Mum. He always wanted to play and sing for Papa, too, but Edmund was usually with Anthony and Benedict. Still, he and Fran would sit on the shorter velvet cushion so they could reach the pedals, and they would take turns singing silly made up songs, or church hymns

+Because of his age, he was always excluded from the 'Boys' club of the family. At ten years younger than his older brothers, and not an Heir OR the Spare, this is when he started getting particularly close with his sisters, El, Daph, and Fran. He and Daphne were almost inseparable growing up.

+Colin got SEVERAL makeovers from his sisters. They always said he was just as pretty as they were, and powdered him with too much blush, bribing him with extra snacks if he wore one of their dresses. He did, of course. Those Tea Parties were fancy affairs, after all. Once, Eloise tried to braid his hair for it, too, but it was just too short

+Of all his siblings, Colin is the only one Papa ever punished physically. After Colin hit Eloise and Papa saw, he horsewhipped him in the stable. Colin is a boy, soon to be a man, Papa said, he should never lay a hand on a lady, *any* lady. Colin wonders why he cannot hit a lady, but anyone can hit him. It's the start of his hero complex and his martyr streak, too. He does not matter in the scenario, others do. He can get hurt, but others cannot.

+It's not three months after Edmund dies that Colin is sent to Eton. He's the only boy in their entire family to ever go there, and the prestige of Oxford was just unnecessarily for a third son. The funds were already put aside, Colin's traveling trunk packed, and the first year paid out. He had no choice. As a lanky, scrawny, barely 5 feet tall 12 year old boy, Colin leaves everything he has ever known behind to mourn in private, on his own, far from anything familiar

+Eton has. . .to say problems would be an understatement. Colin is under the tutelage of the harshest superintendent of the century for only one year toward the end, but it is far more than enough. The treatment is horrible. (look it up, this is historically accurate!). 'Flogging Fridays' were so harrowing, the uprisings by the students ended in stalemates and fury. In that last year, Colin had long hit his growth spurt, and resented a bully deep, *deep* in his bones. In his last year at Eton, Colin broke so many windows in the uprising that for days after, he was picking glass shards out from his clothes

+His first year at Eton was hard. Colin was small and alone and had no one in his corner. He made friends with some others, but for the most part, he was an easy target for the older boys to pick on. His name couldn't shield him from that. Being so small, even when he tried to fight back, he wasn't very successful, and most times, they would report him for violence anyway, so his choices were two fold- sit down and take it, or square up

+Colin learns to box at Eton. It isn't encouraged, surely, but one of his classmates noticed how Colin was very much not having a good time and put two and two together. He was older, a bit fatherly, almost, even though he wasn't even 18, yet. It was his last year so he was less concerned with doing things as the world expected it. Colin followed him around like a little duckling. Everywhere James went, Colin went. They sat with each other to eat dinner, then would sneak off to spar and train. He was Colin's first crush. He never told anyone, but he *is* grateful

+When Colin comes home for the first time, he *knows* everything is different. There's already a rift forming. Colin becomes a haunt in the hallway, only there in the summers and for holiday breaks. Colin becomes a ghost, half seen, wandering Aubrey Hall. Mama is over the moon, of course, as over the moon she can be still deep in grief, as is Daphne, but Fran is quieter, now, and Eloise turns away from him, frustrated at his freedoms when she gets none. Anthony has no time for him, save to ask if his studies are well, and Benedict is busy taking care of the babs

+Colin's favorite place to be when he was home was with Hyacinth. He'd sneak into the nursery and gently hold her. Though there were nurses, Colin was there so often, they swore she never cried. The truth was, Hy cried often, but Colin would notice the signs and comfort her. It made him feel better, to know there was something in this world that might need him. No one else needed him. Not Mama, not his sisters, certainly not his brothers. So, he rocks the baby sister he barely knows, and he sings her lullabies, and he cries with her, sometimes, and he's just a little less alone

+He's 14 by the time he finally starts gaining height. A late bloomer, a professor or two teases. They thought it would never come, really. He'd been a been pole for as long as anyone could remember, ever since he turned 6, but all of a sudden, he looked almost skeletal. Shooting up near an entire foot was awful. For a lot of people in his life, this was the first they'd seen him be openly miserable and snappish. Sore and frustrated, Colin had the shortest fuse he'd ever had. Oh, he had a temper. Always did. But he typically knew how to reign it in. During his growing pains, it was impossible. This is the manifest of him not sharing his food- he was constantly ravenous, and lord help anyone trying to get between him and his plate

+Colin first meets Penelope when he's 16, filled out and coming into his own, an insta-crush for Penelope, but for Colin? First thing he thought after her bonnet knocked him off his horse is that she looked like a peach. All round and pink and in her yellow dress. Colin likes peaches. So Colin likes her. It was simple as that for him

+He never got into Eloise's rivalry about Penelope. Honestly, he didn't think about her very often. Penelope seemed sweet, but she was near silent. Eloise would tell him that she wasn't that way with her, as though bragging, and Colin just shrugged. He didn't have any real interest or investment in their friendship, but he did try to be polite. The one time, Penelope stood in front of him and tried to say something for an entire minute, only to squeak and thrust out a book at him, turning tail and making off. He found it surprisingly funny. She opened up to him slowly, got more comfortable in increments, but he thinks back to that moment and remembers that she's come a long way. Would be nice to see where they end up (forshadowinggggg)

+Colin doesn't like to drink. Never carried a torch for the taste, really, but other men did it, and only in drinking did they seem to have any semblance of closeness. Colin tries it for himself. It never really works out

+Charm becomes a second skin to hide himself in. Deflecting questions to other people, remembering details about them and bringing them up, asking questions and using humor. Funny how humor lands so much easier, now. At Eton, he had no protection. (No wonder he despises a bully) But now, he was grown. Now, he was a 'man'. A conventionally attractive man (he can't really deny it). He's tall and he's finally started filling out broad and big, and he uses it to his advantage. When he talks, in his mind, somewhere, he's still that 5 foot tall boy, crying in the carriage to an unfamiliar place or grinning and bearing it his first year at school. But this time, he has a cloak to wrap around himself. This time, yes, he's softhearted and tender, but he is also beautiful and knows how to focus on someone else, and he uses it to his advantage.

+Colin understands this privilege, because for a time, he knew what it was like without it. Colin sees what happens to those who do not have it, also. For Colin, charm is the sprinkle of honey over his bitter fears and concerns. For Colin, charm is the fun party hat everyone gets to see- not that he's sad, not that he's conflicted, not that he's unsure. He's pretty. That's enough for them

+But it isn't enough for HIM. Colin grapples with his purpose because the idea that he should be content to be attractive and well off and nothing else sits unpleasantly with him. Colin wants to be a self-made man, but he is denied the opportunity. So he tries to navigate the world as it is around him, having been pre-molded and determined to a certain outcome.

+So, Colin's arc is about becoming a Man, but he is not a conventional one, so he works from example. What do Men do? Colin certainly didn't have his father to inform him, so he relies on the other men around him. Well. . .Men visit brothels and have mistresses and drink whiskey and go to clubs, but Colin doesn't want to go to a brothel, and he doesn't desire a mistress, and whiskey burns when it goes down, acrid as the smoke thick and smoggy in the clubs. So. . .what else? Well, Men get married. Men take care of a family. Men are educated.

he can do THAT

+Colin attempts to marry in Season 1 not because he is fully infatuated (he likes Marina, sure, but his eagerness is not just rooted in such) but because he is attempting to find purpose. To find meaning. To be a Man, a GOOD man. And Good Men are married, so Colin will be married. Good Men take care of their family, so Colin takes care of his family, so Colin offers to BE her family. But because these are rooted in aimless endeavors (Colin wants to be A man, but not THE man he envisions for himself), they fall apart. Now, Penelope certainly has a hand in it falling to pieces, but Colin didn't really have the right motivations to start off with, so in season 2. . .

+He's depressed. It's odd to me that others would describe season 2 as an arc in which Colin is successful. The entire time, he is in a deep depression. Colin partakes in drugs, specifically to not think about the world, or to find peace and comfort. Colin claims that no one wants to hear his stories, even if he thinks he did everything right by traveling. (Remarkable. . .yes, in the sense that I have many remarks of it). Colin drinks even though he clearly hates it, gets migraines, hangovers, grimaces at the taste, because he is looking for ESCAPE

+But Colin cannot escape. Even on a different continent, even having run, there is no where to go. His escape is not from the ton, and not even necessarily from reality, but from his own insecurities. From what he feels are his inadequacies. Good Men are married, but in Colin's mind, he abandoned Marina. Good Men take care of their family, and Colin left his. Good Men are educated, and Colin is tripping on shrooms in the middle of Cyprus, looking at the stars, wondering what he's meant to do with himself. Colin's desires to escape are deeply rooted, but Colin doesn't want to escape a PLACE. He's done that for a long time. No, Colin wants to escape a PERSON. Himself. The himself he knows himself as

+So, instead, it's easier to be someone else. Himself is messy and sensitive and needs to rehearse what he says. Himself doesn't ever say the right thing (doesn't know how) and is boring to everyone else, besides. Himself is too painful, so it's easier to be Charming Colin. Helpful Colin. Colin taking down a scheme. Colin providing for others. Because he does not matter in it. They do.

+But he DOES. Season 3 sees Colin masquerading. Successfully, of course, but nonetheless. He's half settled into himself and half settled into the persona. When Penelope gives him the cold shoulder with no explanation? Persona. When Eloise avoids him? Persona. When Fran is getting trussed up like a calf for auction on the marriage mart? Persona. Colin spends so much of his life trying to be someone else

+And then he finds out Penelope is Whistledown, and the betrayal of it rips all his talent from him. He can no longer be Happy Colin, Smiling Colin, Here, I'll Help Colin- no, now he is just angry. Sad. Upset. Hurt. Conflicted. He can only be COLIN, and he does not want her to see. Does not want her to reveal it to everyone else, that the man they saw was a sham, that deep down, he is still that boy, that boy Marina said he was, that boy chasing dreams and fantasies, that boy curled up in the cupboard, sobbing about losing his dad, that empty, hollow boy, able to offer up nothing but charm

+But they will see. She will see. And he will see, too. Just who Colin really is. Just who he can be. And just how full and rich and wonderful the reality really is, mess and all

[swallowedbyfandom]

On many an occasion Violet has wondered what went wrong with her husband's seed. There had to be a reason all their children were so excessively dimwitted when it came to romance. She could not understand it. They were all so clever when it came to books and schooling. However the second it came to love they each lost their grasp on reality.

Her current problem child had to be dragged away from beating Lord Fife to death by four footmen. While she understood the impulse after hearing what precluded the event, surely he knew he had no one to blame but himself. Why on earth did he ever associate with such a disgusting being? Of course Portia would assume he has the same moral failings as Fife. Penelope all but stated that he and Fife were brothel buddies. Penelope was right to protect her reputation. It is one thing to be childhood friends with a harmless neighbor it is another to associate with a known rake.

Penelope use to be much more familiar with Anthony and Benedict before they became rakes. After, they earned those titles, little Penelope's followed decorum to the letter. A smart lady knows she cannot allow even a hint of doubt to fall on her virtue. What did Colin expect? Penelope has always put in considerable effort to remain unmarred by her families schemes. He could not have really believed a hasty proposal would be all it took?

She cannot even begin to fathom how he can rectify this mess. They are past the point where sweet words can smooth things over. The only way forward now would be time and good behavior. However she can see the writing on the wall. Time is no longer her son's friend. There are by her count three stronger suitors whom have thrown their hats into the race for Miss Featherington's heart. She is afraid it is already too late for him.

Colin has allowed his shame and insecurities to get the better of him. While he has been second guessing his actions and wallowing in self pity, their wallflower has allowed herself to bloom. Penelope she knows is no longer waiting for Colin. If he wants her he will have to play catch up. She can tell now listening to his temper tantrum that he is not ready to be the man Penelope needs.

It breaks her heart knowing her son has missed his chance at marrying the love of his life. He is her favorite son, the one most like her dearly beloved Edmund. Colin however lacks Edmund's resolve. She has tried to teach all her children that love is a choice. That they must choose to fight for the love they want everyday, every second.

She has warned them all that a love left unattended will eventually wither away. Sadly, she has watched that very thing happened all this season. Her Eloise allowed her pride to burn away the deep love and loyalty she once had with Penelope. Even if Colin managed to marry Penelope, they will never be sisters again. She thinks that is perhaps the greatest loss of all.

She will call on Penelope for tea tomorrow. Penelope may not carry her family name but she has helped raise her into the remarkable woman she has become. She intends on keeping her regardless of what family she marries into.

[mags0142]

Nobody’s Son, Nobody’s Daughter

Hello my loves, I started working on a little bit of an Edmund fic. Although I am trying to develop something of my own the Narnia franchise is definitely a source material.

It’s an Edmund x Reader fic for now with a few original characters.

Tags : major character death (his siblings), smut, mentions of suicide (no further development on that though)

Please let me know what you think :) enjoy!

——————

Grief is a goodbye from love. It is the final gift we receive when we have wholeheartedly and honestly loved and were loved. It is the flag we wave around that screams “look at me, I was loved. I loved, I still love” and so we must carry our grief with pride and hold it high for it is proof of the sincere emotions we felt for one another which transcend life and death. We should cherish the grief and welcome it into our arms like we once welcomed our loved ones for it is their gift goodbye. And yet we run from it. We run from it until it finds us.

Edmund was currently running from it. Or rather towards it, seeing as he was trying to eliminate the source that caused it.

The men that had taken the lives of Edmunds most precious beings, his beloved siblings.

When Edmund heard of his sibling’s death he had long been aware of it. A wave of pain had overcome him. He had felt as if he had lost part of his soul and in a way he very much did. The boy who had burged into his chamber was carrying a message his heart had already received. Moreover he knew that their death was most unfair considering he was the only one deserving of being killed. they had been good people through and through their entire lives, they had been true to themselves and their morals.

Edmund couldn’t say the same for himself. He had betrayed them and risked their lives for his foolish desires. He was the only one deserving of being killed. He knew in his heart that he had betrayed them once again by not dying instead, by being spared of this terrible faith, by not being with them when they spoke their last words.

He felt himself a traitor of the highest degree.

His first thought had been to take his own life. To join his siblings and apologise to them. But he realised this would be the weak way out. If he wanted redemption he would have to suffer for it. He could only redeem himself and avenge the people closest to his heart if he lived through the pain.

And if he killed whoever took their lives. His siblings had been noble people, they rarely resorted to killing, even in times of war. Edmund wasn’t as pure. His soul would be tarnished anyway, there was no need to hold back now, not when his heart was aching and his lungs were burning and the image of their tortured faces haunted his thoughts.

He walked through the now empty castle. It was as if all life had left it, for Edmund it did. The kingdom was relieved in a way because they had still one monarch left. They had lost their compassionate and loyal queens and their brave king but they still had someone left, even if it was their least favourite one. Edmund had known that the popularity of his siblings surpassed his own by a landslide, but now was not the time to focus on his image amongst the people he ruled, not for him anyway. In a way he felt he had also betrayed his people by being the only one left, they didn’t deserve to lose their rulers the way they did. He knew taking over their responsibilities would be a difficult task but one he was willing to take on.

The king gathered his best swordsmen and ordered his smiths to forge the best weapons they possibly could.

“They’ll be long gone by the time we arrive, your Majesty, they most likely left right after .. after the .. the incident” Althea tried to suggest. Edmund turned to his advisor and studied his face. He had a look of worry in his eyes mixed with a hint of pity. Edmund frowned at the idea that Althea was pitying him. “Perhaps they have, but their elaborate scheme couldn’t have been orchestrated by a far, they must have had a base somewhere near the temple. If anything it should give us a clue to where they are headed next.”.

With that Edmund got up and moved towards the door “We leave at dawn, I suppose you’ll be joining us?” he turned slightly to Althea but only enough to catch a glimpse of him in the corner of his eye. “Of course your highness.” Althea replied softly, bowing to his King. “Good, thank you for your help Althea, I appreciate your support” Edmund replied quickly and left the room to disappear into his chamber.

It was late at night, he knew that he should be in bed right now but how could he ? How could he rest knowing his sibling's killer was still out there? How could he ever rest again knowing he had failed to protect the only people ever dear to him. Ever since the murder Edmund had been consumed by this disgusting, rotting guilt. It had infested him as soon as the life left their bodies and was now consuming every part of him. It ran through his veins and blackened his heart, draining it of love and replacing it with grief. It crawled up his body. Higher and higher until it reached his eyes and blurred his vision. He saw nothing but injustice and evil no matter where he looked. His own reflection disgusted him by far the most. How dare his cheeks be rosy with life and his chest beat with every breath of air he took.

He slowly undressed in the dim candle light and mindlessly put on his sleeping gown. He could have washed his face but there was no use in doing so for him. On one hand he was far too exhausted and occupied by other things to care for himself. On the other hand, probably unbeknownst to him, he refused to take care of himself as a form of punishment. He didn’t deserve to be taken care of, not even by himself when he hadn’t taken care of them. His physical appearance was to be as soiled as his soul. Everyone looking at him should know that he was a filthy traitor. He would run around dirty for the rest of his life if it meant repenting even a fraction of the sin he committed.

Through all his self inflicted pain and unavoidable grief he made an attempt to be rational and laid down in bed.

His sword, which used to belong to his older brother initially, and his armour were waiting by the foot of his bed, ready to be worn and used for revenge.

Edmund laid in his bed tossing and turning trying to shake off all these memories and thoughts of guilt. Even once he fell asleep he was moaning and twitching uneasily in his sleep.

Althea pressed his ear to the wall of his chamber that shared a wall with the King’s room. He listened intently to all the sounds Edmund made regardless if they were conscious or not. Secretly he hoped that Edmund would call out to him. Not as a King looking for his advisor while making rational decisions, but as a friend, perhaps a lover, looking for a shoulder to cry on, searching for a safe space to be vulnerable in. He was grateful to be so close to Edmund throughout all this time, but even with his held back discrete demeanour he could not deny that he was secretly lusting for the King. He had breached Edmund's privacy many times. Sneaking into his Chamber during bath time just to catch a glimpse of his beautiful porcelain skin, glistening in the water of the bath. He would relish in the sight of Edmunds dark hair clinging to his forehead and he counted the freckles on his lovely rosy cheeks.

Althea would take himself in hand and imagine those strong arms grabbing him and pushing him against the nearest wall. He imagined those plush lips hungrily devouring his and these hard abs to press against his slender frame. He would come thinking of deep brown eyes, pale skin, strong muscles and a large cock inside of him.

Afterwards he would feel soiled yet satisfied, he would retreat into his Chamber and go on as normal while Edmund was none the wiser.

A dirty part of him was glad they died. It made him the one closest to Edmund and gave him an opportunity to develop their relationship. He was aware that his desires were selfish but he wished so dearly that in his desperation and pain Edmund would turn to Althea in search of love. And Althea would give it to him willingly. He was ready to give up his body and soul for even the slightest touch of the King.

Edmund was aware of Althea's sexuality, in fact he was an active defender of Althea in front of everyone who thought to criticise who Althea chose to love. However he wasn't aware that Althea only really cared for one, Edmund himself. Edmund had never even suspected it, perhaps it was a lack of self-esteem or perhaps he thought their deep-rooted relationship was based on strictly platonic feelings. Either way the king never entertained the idea of being Althea’s object of desire.

Althea had no intention of correcting him. As much as Althea longed for his touch and craved his affection he would not dare risk their good bond. Even if it left him heartbroken he would rather moan into his pillow in the dead of night then potentially lose his king forever.

[tenzingfilm]

In a big deal that closed in the days leading into this week’s Cannes market, Apple Original Films has landed worldwide rights to Tenzing, the new package we told you about last week starring Tom Hiddleston and Willem Dafoe.

The question we asked today was whether the U.S. buyers would come to play for the Cannes market projects and we have an answer already.

Oscar-winning producer See-Saw Films (The King’s Speech) is producing Tenzing, about the inspirational life of Sherpa Tenzing Norgay and his summit of Mount Everest in 1953 alongside fellow outsider New Zealander Edmund Hillary.

A search is underway to cast the lead role of Tenzing Norgay who will star alongside BAFTA-nominated Tom Hiddleston (Loki) as Sir Edmund Hillary and four-time Oscar nominee Willem Dafoe (Poor Things) as the English expedition leader, Colonel John Hunt.

Tenzing comes from filmmaker Jennifer Peedom who has the exclusive rights to tell Tenzing’s story via his family and has a close relationship with the Sherpa community after making acclaimed documentary Sherpa.

Script comes from Oscar-nominated Luke Davies (Lion) and producers are Liz Watts, Emile Sherman and Iain Canning for See-Saw Films, alongside Jennifer Peedom and Luke Davies. Executive producers are Simon Gillis, David Michôd and Norbu Tenzing.

Rocket Science was handling international sales in partnership with Cross City Films, See-Saw’s in-house sales arm. UTA Independent Film Group and Cross City Films were co-repping the U.S. sale and brokered the Apple deal. We understand filming is being lined up for spring 2025.

The project was being touted to buyers as having a budget in the $25M range. We hear it skews more intriguing character piece than an action-packed Everest-type but there will be a number of climbing sequences.

Tibetan born Tenzing Norgay, alongside New Zealand mountaineer Edmund Hillary, both outsiders on a British Expedition, defied insurmountable odds to achieve what was once thought impossible, reaching the summit of the world’s tallest mountain, Mount Everest. After six previous attempts, Tenzing risked everything for one final venture. He had to navigate treacherous politics and perilous weather as he embarked on the most significant climb of his life. Through it all, he did so with humor, warmth, and generosity towards his fellow climbers, but also deep reverence and respect for the sacred Mother Goddess of his Mountain, Chomolungma.

Peedom is known for her intimate portraits against epic landscapes, including documentaries Solo, Sherpa and Mountain.

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight

Gliding out of the lively event inside the Mayfair Auction House, Benedict Bridgerton made his way outside, disappearing into the shadow cast by the building and twilight. He snuck to a vacant corner between two giant stuccos, leaned back against the wall, trying to mend his fraying nerves.

It’s alright. He told himself. You’re alright. It was getting rather stuffed in there. The socialising, the drinking, the parading. The presence of art and relics played only second fiddle to the oppressive atmosphere of quiet, vicious competition, mixing with the joyful flow of coins and banknotes. Nowhere, Benedict discovered, was the contempt between the titled and the moneyed for one another magnified quite like the way it was in an auction house.

And he was one of them now. Moneyed and then titled. Well, at least his eldest brother was. Anthony, or as he had been known for the past three years, Viscount Bridgerton, bought his title with an exorbitant amount, the likes of which usually bankrupted a well-off man, but made only a small dent in their family’s fortune. Not only was this move considered, privately, a social spit on the face to the sensitive high society of Britain, Anthony also had the audacity to take a piss on his initial offence by holding half of the Lords in debt, and the other half in his employment.

Benedict was the backup Viscount, at least temporarily. His brother had been hard at work procreating.

Meanwhile, Benedict was sent out into the world, presenting himself as a respectable gentleman of Mayfair society. On the other hand, his job also consisted of being Anthony’s errand boy, running things his brother had neither the appetite or taste for. Things like acquiring a new painting for their drawing room. What kind of painting, Anthony did not say. An expensive one was not a particularly helpful description.

So now, here he was at an auction house, pockets heavy with funds, attempting to bid on an expensive artwork that would fit their drawing room, out of all the other expensive paintings, excluding the ones that could only reach the pricey range.

The experience was so horrendous, so overwhelming that Benedict had to excuse himself in the middle of it to catch his breath. It was not that he was incompetent. He liked society, for the most part. He liked playing the role of a charmer. He had learned to like subtly manipulating the conversation and quietly instigating shit. It was only--

All this art was sitting right there and he had to pay for them?

The Bridgerton siblings did not come from money. They were born within the halls of a fledgling gambling hell, eight labours of love between an ostracised noble lady and the owner of said gambling hell, a former bruiser who she had eloped with, and who was now dead. Anthony certainly could not have risen to the position he did today purely by running that establishment in a respectable, honest manner. Edmund had been, and Violet was as close to saints as mortals could get, yet they had given birth to a collection of unnaturally talented liars, cheats, brutes, swindlers and murderers.

And Benedict loved his siblings even more for it. Every single one of those seven fuckers.

He eyed the side of the building. The ledge above him, where a nimble chimney sweeper was scaling, looked promising. He could imagine it now. In five minutes, he would return inside. Perhaps he should chat up Lord Bhandari and then attract the House’s director into their conversation. Maybe he would pretend to be drunk off his ass and stir up some chaos. But that might be found out by Anthony, and Benedict was too old and too bored to receive another scolding from their eldest brother. He could try to get the director himself drunk? Which approach then? The man was conservative enough at whist, preferring to serve as accessory to the egos of bigger, more powerful players. With the right kind of bait… A man like that would not miss a chance to amass, especially on art, even more so if he only needed to spend but little for vast returns. What if he heard of an obscure blackmarket offer from a raw, undiscovered talent, who also had the misfortune of being gravely ill and desperately poor? Which tales of greatness and/or of woes could he bullshit up so the honourable Auction House’s director would forget about his keys, long enough…

His fingers twitched at his sides in excitement. Nighttime. Craft knife. Tubular case. Fuck! He tightened his hands into fists. Steel yourself! He took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Calm down, Benedict. We’re going legit now. Think legal thoughts.

Tucking a hand into his breast pocket, Benedict pulled out his cigarette box, entrusting the vice to fog up his racing mind.

Just after his first inhale, as the warm chemicals were only starting their invasion of Benedict’s veins, soundlessly, a figure landed in front of him, not so far away. It took him a few seconds to recognise the chimney sweeper he had observed not long earlier. The smoke of his cigarette was making his vision extra ghostly.

It was when they looked up and met Benedict’s mildly intrigued gaze, that his breath was knocked out of his chest, for they were the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on.

It sounded rather absurd, as he could hardly make out any particular features under their ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothes, including the dark stripe of cloth covering the top half of their face. All he could tell was that they were small in stature, they moved so gracefully and lightly as if gravity was of no concern at all. Around their waist and half-hidden, was a curiously intricate-looking chain, whose metallic shine Benedict was fairly certain came from silver. A strangely fine item, utterly out-of-place on a drab chimney-sweeper’s costume. 

The stranger was smiling while looking at him, their eyes imprinted an exhilarating thrill and unadulterated joy into his soul. 

And they were coming his way.

‘Good evening,’ he uttered, trying to sound smooth, briefly forgetting that he was still holding a cigarette in his mouth. With swift motion, the stranger caught the tube between their fingers before it could reach the ground.

Well, that was embarrassing. Benedict thought, blushing. I must look like a bloody idiot.

Fortunately for him, the expression his new company showed him leaned more toward amusement than mockery. More… flirtatious than mockery. Their eyes on him, still smiling, they brought the cigarette to their lips, giving it a greedy whiff, then releasing the vapours in a blissful exhale.

They had very kissable lips, Benedict remarked mentally, plump and soft, framed by elegant lines of the cheeks and chin.He suspected there was a woman under that disguise. Or a very young, very pretty man. Suddenly feeling shy, he averted his eyes from their mouth, drawing his attention back to the little torch they had stolen from him. They were quick, he must admit. Too bad Benedict was no slowpoke himself. 

The cigarette had returned to him before they noticed it. 

Taking his time, Benedict took another whiff, carefully closing his mouth around where theirs were, seeking their taste. Meanwhile, his gaze fixated on the object of his fascination, watching as the eyes of the dust-covered little pixie grew wide and their lips trembled in surprise. As if they were taken aback by his boldness, by his indirect kiss, or had just come to the realisation that flirting with him was a reckless impulse on their part.

Very interesting.

Benedict could rationale, from personal experience, that their presence here, at this auction house, meant no good deed. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked.

The stranger grinned, delighted in their own mystery. The tip of their tongue caught between their teeth in a mischievous manner, and Benedict resisted the urge to press his own tongue against the spot.

‘Guess.’ Their voice was raspy and strained, perhaps a disguise attempt. The excitement and curiosity were not hidden, however. He could hear it.

There, as they stood between day and night and between social bubbles, as cigarette smoke billowed gently between the two of them. It was as if they existed out of time, Benedict and this vibrant phantom. Their identities were protected by half-lights, by the mute, blinded nature of elevated, civilised Mayfair streets and by criminality, against the eyes of the world and each other.

Using his left hand, slowly, openly, giving the stranger the time to react, to change their mind, Benedict took a hold of their right hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Little bursts of lightning shot up his fingertips where their skins touched, expanding all over his body. Carefully, with his thumb drawing little invisible circles, he memorised and processed the stories written on the skin of the adorable enigma with his touch. Their hand was small. He did not know any adult males with such small hands. A bump on the first joint of the middle finger. A writer’s callus. So they were educated and right-handed. Many noble ladies slathered their hands with lotions and filed their skin down to within an inch of their lives to soothe these bumps away, ashamed that the hardened skin would mar the perfectly pampered appearance. Their skin was cracked, dry and callused. These were most probably resulted from manual labour. Not a prominent weapon user. The little surface of their palm and along their fingers were riddled with little nicks, cuts and burn marks. 

Benedict noticed the contrast between his smooth palm and the mysterious marvel’s roughened one, and felt the whisper of a murderous rage getting louder inside him. What happened? Whatever, whoever occupied this beautiful creature’s life so much that they had no time to take care of themself? A good criminal ought to maintain a tailored, professional appearance. He flipped their hand over to inspect the back. More burn scars. Were they a black smith? They certainly did not carry themself like one. And why would an intellectual put one’s self through the dangers of blacksmithing? No clear impressions or calluses on the knuckles, the exact opposite of how his younger brother, Colin’s hands looked. His siren certainly did not possess the punch of an experienced bruiser.

He leaned down, surreptitiously studying what he could perceive of their profile. At this distance, he could see how their left shoulder was tense, weighed down by something they were carrying up their sleeve. No trace of cosmetics on their cheek. No shaving scars. Most definitely not a man. It would not lessen his attraction to this person in any way were they of one sex or another. More information about one's opponent, however, was always better than less.

She, he half-decided that they could be a she, smelled of the city. Not of perfumed leather and pruned gardens, not of the Mayfair part, no. Her natural scent was buried underneath layers of smoke, his cigarette among them. She smelled of darkened alleyways, of sweat and metal, and the garden. The scent was not conventionally pleasant, and it would have taken an ass kicking his skull off for him to expect something more arranged, considering what she might be doing and what he knew himself of the profession. But her smell did give him a calming effect. It reminded him of Covent Gardens, of their gambling hall, of his wild, chaotic and utterly free childhood. Few where he was now would look at the area and consider it an optimal place to raise children. Anthony would not. Neither would Daphne. But Benedict had always recalled their harsher times with fondness.  

‘I got nothing.’ He grinned against her face, delighted in feeling her shiver and the heat emanating from her cheek. He decided to keep all that he learned in those short seconds to himself instead. Retreating back to where he was against the wall, he put out the cigarette, put the stub into his pocket, then lit a new one. Milking the tension for all its worth. ‘Except for that you smell like a ghost. Well done.’ He was, had been, a cardsharp after all.

She looked frozen for a few seconds, registering his remark, unsure if it was a compliment or a snide. And based on the way her mouth dropped into a pout, on how she yanked the cigarette away from his shit-eating grin, and on how she smoked it in the most petulant manner afterward, he could see that she came to no satisfactory conclusion.

‘My turn.’ He offered his own hand to her. ‘Who am I?’  

The stranger took his hand and stared down at it. The brim of her cap, the mask over her eyes and the dim light made it impossible to glimpse her expression. What would she learn of him? Would she see the faded, chequered cuts of his fingers and deduce his upbringing in a gambling hell? Would she notice the old indentations of ropes and strings and discover his once-familiarity with them? Or would his recent lack of action already put a pristine mask on all of his past, and that would lead her to conclude that he was no more than a pampered aristocrat, who had never lifted anything heavier than a champagne flute in his life, pretending to play it tough? Would that perception be more charming? Was it a personality type she would prefer?

His heart pounded like a top thoroughbred in a race at the featherlight grazings of her finger all over his palm. Their close proximity did not help slow the rhythm. He almost wanted to pull back, to retreat, to put the hand she was holding into a glove, into his pocket, behind his back, to hide himself away from her gaze.

Benedict had no idea how he wanted to come off to this person, and it terrified him. 

‘Hmmm’, she started with a hum, releasing a puff of smoke. ‘Very healthy, vigorous male. Yet a turbulent life, your life, full of ups and downs.’ He pondered that statement and shrugged to himself.He supposed there were some degrees of truth to that.  ‘A chaotic professional life, indeed. Greedy man, you have not been able to commit to anything, have you?’

‘I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.’

‘You have close, meaningful relationships with people around you.’ He smirked. ‘A mind of many ideas, can rarely keep his feet on the ground.’ He winced.

‘I don’t believe you saw all of that on my hand.’ He complained, on the defence. ‘Are you a witch?’

She looked back up at him, smiling. ‘It’s just palm-reading. Nursemaids’ hobby.’ Quietly, he tucked that information away, wondering if she realised she had given another clue about her identity. ‘Why, are you going to report me? If you do, considering I am telling you your fortune, I would include a forewarning as part of my fees.’ She tried to keep her voice playful, but he sensed true anxiety in her voice, in the way she subtly gripped his hand.

‘No,’ he swore. ‘I will not report you.’ And meant it. ‘Never.’

He heard her breath a sigh of relief, drawing his hand slightly closer to her chest. She trusted him. They’ve only just met, but she trusted him. And to Benedict’s surprise, he trusted her too. This stranger whose name he did not know and whose face he could not even see fully.

He gestured to the hand that she was holding again. ‘What else do you see?’

‘You are,’ she continued, slower this time. ‘A romantic soul. Artistic. A poet. There is so much love inside you.’ He quickly took the cigarette back from her, using it to mask his bashfulness. Benedict Bridgerton did not feel bashful. Unless when he was high. He leaned closer, attempting to decipher the comprehensive archive of his life and character, written in a foreign language between the lines of his palm. A language that she was apparently reading with ease.

‘You also possess great charm.’ She sketched a line from between his index and middle finger to the base of his pinkie. ‘Others can’t help being drawn to you.’

He smiled. ‘I think you are just describing my face now. It’s up here.’

She looked up, mouth open, fully prepared to give him another sarcastic remark. No words managed to escape her. Lost in her diligent inspection of his hand, she did not realise the gap between them had grown smaller. Their eyes met, closer this time.

And then they were kissing. With her hands still closed around his, he pulled her closer to him, before sliding that hand away from her grasp, making a lingering trip up her neck, then resting upon her cheek. Her newly freed hands clutched at his lapels, while her body enthusiastically pressed him even further against the wall. Benedict’s other arm, the one holding the cigarette, snaked around her waist. His pinkie looped a few twice around her silver chain.

With her breath and lips, she put the moon on his tongue. He swallowed it, and it lit up his insides. Feeling her response, he trusted  a celestial body resided in her too. It ignited her bones, and he knew he put it there.

When Benedict nipped at the edge of her mask, intending on removing it with his teeth, his silver mystery was startled out of their trance. She pushed against him, took a few steps back, and readjusted her mask till it sat firmly again across her face. Where he toyed with the chain on her waist left a mark on his hand. Neither of them noticed it.

‘I must go.’ She said quietly. They were pulled back to their existence inside time.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, feeling fundamentally altered.

‘Guess.’ Her smile reflected his own melancholy. Then that feeling made room for a blossoming of brewing mischief.

He did not answer. Not with words, anyway.

He gave her back his cigarette. A challenge. An inquiry. 

Show me.

He was damn excited to see what she would do.

‘Thank you’, she whispered, so softly Benedict could not make out her voice. Then the twilight nymph, one of the many names he would later refer to the stranger, retreated back a few steps and revealed briefly to Benedict the strange, elegant mechanism attached to her left wrist. She took one last drag of the cigarette, reigniting the dim glow, then inserted it into the mechanism.

Then, she almost levitated up the walls of Mayfair Auction House, tiptoeing from balcony to balcony like a sparrow. Aiming her arm with what Benedict just then realised was a kind of small, personalised crossbow, at an open window on the third floor, she shot the cigarette into the room. Then elegantly, she landed back on their feet, gave Benedict a little bow, and ran away.

Just as he started to take off after her, the explosion that came almost immediately halted him.

Reeling from the shock, Benedict lost track of his target in the smoke and the commotion. Furthermore, he was waylaid by the spectacle of the stranger’s handiwork. Sparks of gold and silver lit up the fancy building like a goddamn birthday cake. The air reeked of sulphur. Pediments and balconies fell over each other like flaming dominos. A symphony of confused worries growing steadily into horrified screamings, swelling in and out of the building. He could make out the desperate, ineffective authority of the director, ordering his employees to protect the auctioned lots.

It was fucking magnificent.

Yet just as swiftly, the Metropolitan Police rolled to the scene. From his vantage point, Benedict watched them making quick work of disbanding the gathering crowd of peasants. The vision of the Auction House’s door getting knocked down was not unlike the collapse of the Gates of Hell. Dust and smoke flared. An ash-covered entanglement of limbs, screams and chaos clawed its way out. Glamorous nobles, horror-stricken, losing all their dignity, climbing over each other to escape.

The police’s efforts to escort the guests to safety were met with earnest cooporation. All one could feel was relief. No one bothered questioning why only half of the servants assigned to work there that day made it out of the building.  

The auctioned pieces were carried into the police wagon in an orderly manner, before substantial fire damages could get to them. The process was further assisted by the director’s and his esteemed visitors’ hefty vocal demands and to some degree, warnings of the value of the item, how the lifelong servitude of the person carrying it would be inadequate compensation.

For once, to his dismay, their city’s police proved to be annoyingly competent. Even their unreliability is unreliable. Benedict thought irritably. Left on his own and out of sight, he made a surreptitious scan of the area, searching and then erasing any sort of trails that might lead to his darling firestarter, his fun was thought spoiled.

Until thirty minutes later, a second group of police arrived to assess the situation and attempt rescue, having been waylaid by an angry, drunken scuffle and then a swarm of curious civilians. They were struck dumb to discover the group of perfectly alive, albeit shaken and soot-covered Lords, Ladies and wealthy Misters outside the building. Their assistance was apparently not needed. The auctioned properties were reported by the house director, to be on their way to the station with the first responders.

‘We are the first responders.’ The constable said, growing more alarmed by the syllables. The Auction House’s director processed this knowledge, he turned white, then red, then white again, slowly understanding that the valiant officers, who had bravely and generously rescued his valuable collections, were none other than the thieves themselves. Benedict watched the man growing ill many times over in seconds with immense, yet hidden, amusement.

For his part, Benedict remained charming, confused and absolutely useless during his interview with the real  police. Only after he returned to the safety of his apartments, that he allowed himself to break into a smirk, which grew into a wide grin, then hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you brilliant creature.’ He was wheezing. ‘That was good.’

Benedict Bridgerton was completely, utterly, smitten.

I will find you. He swore to himself, determined to unmask his silver siren.

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 6

Prompt: A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

Pairing: Edmund x Reader

A/N: Finally, finally this one is done! Apparently I can't write any Narnia fic without going way overboard. Also be forewarned this one is a little spicy, but still PG-13/T so it keeps within my boundaries for this series. If you want to know how explicit I'm willing to get for Narnia characters specifically this is a pretty good benchmark. Anyway, enjoy!

When Edmund invited you to spar with him, you were immediately suspicious.

“Why on earth would I need to learn swordplay?” you asked, standing up on your tiptoes and gently pressing your lips to his “I’ve got the best swordsman in Narnia to look after me”

A blush rose across Edmund’s cheeks, a pretty red canvas for those freckles he never quite outgrew. You resisted the urge to grab hold of his face and cover it with kisses, putting your own mark between the constellations already dappling his skin.

“You’re very sweet,” your betrothed replied, glancing quickly at Abelia, the grumpy she-badger who was serving as your chaperone, before sliding his arms around your waist “And very right. But what if there comes a time when I’m not around?”

“Then I’ll just go find Peter,” you said, chuckling at the way Edmund’s nose scrunched in annoyance “Even if he’s only second best, he can at least provide a nice diversion while I make my escape”

The smack of his hand against your arse came so quickly, there was little chance of Abelia noticing. A sidelong glance at the talking badger confirmed this fact. She hadn’t even so much as looked up from her drop spindle, far more concerned with crafting an even thread than minding the two of you.

Emboldened, Edmund ducked his head and stole another kiss. This was far less chaste than the one you had given him moments before, threading his fingers through your hair to deepen it and brushing his tongue over the seam of your lips.

You tried to muffle a moan and almost failed. It was all you could do to keep upright as Edmund continued to lavish your mouth with affection, going as far as to tug at your bottom lip with his teeth before breaking the kiss and gently tilting your head to the side so he could whisper in your ear.

“Listen here cheeky girl,” he kept his voice soft, but there was a stern edge to it that nearly had you squirming “I’ve booked the training pitch for us, and I’ve been promised we’ll have at least an hour alone. No Abelia, no Tumnus. All you have to do is meet me there tomorrow, okay?

You looked up at Edmund with wide, hopeful eyes. Alone? The promise hung between you, almost like a magic spell. It sounded too good to be true.

You’d known Edmund since he’d first came to Narnia, when he was ten and you were eight. You’d loved each other in the way only children can, squabbling over card games and rounds of chess, falling asleep together by the fireside after reading on long winter nights.

At sixteen and fourteen, you’d been betrothed. Since then you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been alone, as though you hadn’t been playing at kissing and going for twilight swims only a few years before.

Reputation didn’t matter so much to Edmund’s siblings, you had been around so long they already considered you part of the family, marriage or not. Your family, on the other hand, was a different story. You were their only daughter, and being such a small household from Archenland, there was a lot riding on this marriage. So until the day of the wedding, you had to keep up appearances.

The sound of Abelia clearing her throat shook you from your reminiscing. You glanced over at the she-badger, who had set aside her drop spindle and was now making a “move apart” gesture with her claws. With a sigh, you did as you were asked, pausing to give Edmund one last kiss on the cheek before turning and gesturing to the nearby couch.

“Shall we sit? Perhaps play a game?”

Edmund nodded, bringing up a hand and running a finger nervously under his collar before he sat next to you. It was hard to tell in the rosy glow of the firelight whether or not his blush had gotten deeper, though you could certainly feel a kind of flame on your own cheeks.

Satisfied that her charges were once again behaving themselves, Abeila took up her spindle and began to wind the thread with practised ease.

“Only half an hour longer, my lady,” she warned, her voice growly by nature rather than intent “Your lady mother wants to sup with you this evening.”

“Yes Abelia.”

Under the table, you could feel Edmund’s hand brush your knee as you began setting up the board for checkers. You glanced over, and were pleased to see the usual mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Tomorrow” he whispered, giving you a small smile, which you returned.

Tomorrow.

***

It was high noon by the time you set off towards the training pitch. The sun was at its zenith, shining brightly over a cold, clear day. There was not a cloud in the sky, save for the ones made by your breath as you walked.

Even dressed in layers as you were, you still felt exposed. You’d borrowed a set of training garb from Lucy, which consisted of a linen shirt, leather jerkin and matching trousers. While you appreciated her generosity, they were a far cry from your usual gowns and petticoats.

You were well aware of the fact that the outline of your legs, thighs, and hips were all prominently on display in the snug breeches. Already, you’d garnered some stares from passing stable boys and squires going about their daily chores. The feeling of their eyes on you sent an anticipatory thrill down your spine. Whether Edmund had asked you to dress this way for function or his own benefit, you couldn’t say, but you were certainly eager to find out.

The training grounds were, surprisingly, empty when you arrived. Save for a few sparrows pecking about the grass, there was not another living soul to be seen. You stood on the dirt track circling the field, listening to the wind buffet the trees and the occasional birdsong while you nibbled at your bottom lip.

Surely you had heard Edmund correctly? The training pitch, tomorrow. That’s what he had said, you were certain of it. And yet here you were, without any sign of Edmund. Perhaps he had been called away and hadn’t had a chance to send notice. Or maybe Abelia or Tumnus had caught him trying to sneak off and he was attempting to explain himself without drawing suspicion to you. Or perhaps Peter had needed him to-

“First rule of sword fighting. Always be aware of your surroundings.”

Your shriek rang out, high and sudden, scaring the nearby sparrows into flight. How Edmund had managed to sneak up on you, in full plate armour no less, would forever remain a mystery. Solving said mystery, however, was far less of a concern to you than trying to connect the toe of your boot to Edmund’s shins.

“What’s the matter with you?! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

Edmund didn’t seem the least bit concerned by your admonishing, laughing and dancing away from your volley of kicks with an easy confidence. His bright eyes and wide smile made you forgive him almost instantly, letting yourself be caught when he reached to put his hands about your waist.

You stood on tiptoe and kissed him, open mouthed and unashamed. Edmund responded in kind, allowing his hands to freely roam along your body now that you were no longer under Abelia’s watchful eye.

The thick metal of his armour made it difficult for you to do the same, so you chose instead to use one hand to cradle his jaw while you brought the other up to twine in his hair. You could taste the tea he’d recently drunk on his breath, a blend of cinnamon, cardamom and ginger from Calmore you knew he favoured. A soft moan escaped your lips as Edmund grabbed a handful of your bottom, squeezing it none too gently. You pressed your body against his, hoping he could feel your warmth and eagerness through his armour, silently imploring for more.

When Edmund finally broke the kiss, you whined, which made him laugh again. You watched as he gathered up a pair of swords from the grass nearby, more than a little confused. Initially, you assumed that the remark about him teaching you swordplay was nothing more than a ruse, to mask his true plan from Abelia and anyone else who may question your intentions for that afternoon. Did he truly wish to put a sword in your hand?

“Come on, you needy thing” he said as he tossed a sword to you, hilt end down. You managed to catch it, albeit a little clumsily “I said I was going to teach you how to fight, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word”

The sword felt strange in your hand, and you held it at length from your body as though you were afraid of what would happen if you brought it too close. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your arm from trembling slightly, which almost ousted the weapon from your grasp.

Edmund watched you for a moment, before finally driving the tip of his own sword into the dirt and closing the distance between you two.

“Second rule of sword fighting,” he announced, his voice cheerful and relaxed “Know how to hold your weapon properly”

He reached out and closed his hand around your own. Despite his armour, he had opted not to wear gloves, and you could feel the callouses on his fingers as he began to adjust your grip. You stood, entranced, while he guided you into a more natural stance, his touch leaving a trail of tingling warmth each time it came in contact with your hand or arm. When he was satisfied with your position, he stepped back and went to retrieve his own weapon.

“Alright. Now, I want you to try and hit me.”

Your astonished expression made Edmund grin in spite of himself. Had he made that suggestion to his sisters or Peter, they would’ve knocked him flat without a second thought. You were far too sweet for your own good.

“It’s alright darling. They’re only tourney swords, watch.”

To prove his point, Edmund ran the index finger of his other hand along the blade’s edge. You watched, waiting for blood to appear, but let out a sigh of relief when none followed. As Edmund had said, the blades had been blunted for practice or sport.

“See? You wouldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to. Well, I suppose you could, if you smacked me with the hilt. But please don’t. My face is the only asset I’ve got”

You laughed, the action pulling some tension from your body. Edmund smiled encouragingly, before bringing up his sword and crooking the fingers of his other hand.

“Come on then. Or are you just going to stand about admiring me all day?”

With another laugh, you took a couple cautious steps forward. Edmund watched your feet with the trained eyes of a practised fighter, but otherwise didn’t move. A few more steps and the space between you two had shrunk to little more than an arm’s length. You stared at your betrothed for a moment, once again giving him the chance to change his mind.

When no protest came, you thrust your sword forward, aiming to hit the side of Edmund’s shoulder. It was a clumsy attempt, without enough force behind it to make for a decent strike, and Edmund sidestepped it easily. You expected him to come dancing around your other side, grinning like a fool and taunting you into having another go, when you felt the flat of a blade smack across your ass.

You whirled, gasping in both surprise and affront. Edmund was roaring with laughter, nearly doubled over with the force of it. You couldn’t help but pout a little, feeling betrayed.

“Oh god, I’m sorry dearest” he said, still a little breathless “That wasn’t very sporting of me, but I couldn’t help it. Here, let’s try again, only this time I want you to put more weight on your front foot and really extend your arm. Then you’ll have better balance and a more fluid thrust, alright?”

You nodded, doing as instructed while Edmund returned to his spot in front of you. As he said, the motion was smoother and your feet felt surer beneath you as you pushed forward. Once again, you tried to strike Edmund’s shoulder, figuring that was a safe choice lest you miss your target.

This time, you managed to glance the blade off Edmund’s arm before he darted away. He let out a playful whoop, before disappearing again behind your back. You turned as quickly as you could manage, knowing he was going to try and spank you again, but Edmund was quicker. The flat of his sword struck your ass with a sharp, stinging blow. You grit your teeth, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of hearing you cry out, and spun around to face him again.

Edmund’s grin, large and knowing, was the first thing you saw after turning. It was all you could do not to toss aside your sword and wipe the smug look off his face with the palm of your hand. It reminded you of your summers as teenagers and all the times he ducked you in the river, before finally apologizing and pulling you in for a burning kiss while you’d clutched at his bare arms.

The memory made you shiver, and you wondered if perhaps this was the same sort of game. Your betrothed's face gave nothing away, whatever he was scheming was staying locked away behind that infuriating smile.

“Giving up already, are you?”

Taking a deep breath, you brought the tip of the sword up once more and pointed it directly at Edmund’s chest.

“Not a chance, your highness.”

With that, you rushed at Edmund, throwing sportsmanship to the wind and hoping you could surprise him before he was ready. For a moment, he appeared genuinely taken off guard, and you relished the way his eyes widened as you swung your sword through the air. However, a well timed feint from an amateur was no match for the best swordsman in Narnia.

The resulting vibration of Edmund’s sword clashing with yours made your teeth knock together and seemed to shake the breath from your lungs. You clutched at your aching wrist, and doubled over to kneel in the dampened grass. Your sword fell from your loosened grip, now useless and forgotten on the ground.

Immediately, Edmund was crouched beside you, having tossed aside his own weapon the moment he saw you go down.

“Oh god, sweetheart, are you alright? I’m so sorry, did I hit you too hard?”

You sat, your face protected in the cradle of your arms and knees, refusing to look Edmund in the eye. When he reached out a hand and placed it on your shoulder, you pulled away.

“Darling?” his voice dropped low, into that special, soft tone he only used for you “Darling, look at me, please.”

Even when he said your name, you didn’t look up. You waited, trying to keep your breathing even. Inside your mind, you began to count.

Three…

Edmund moved even closer. You could feel his breath by your temple, his face only a few inches from yours.

Two…

He said your name again, but to no avail. This time, when he placed his hand on your arm, you didn’t move.

One…

The look of shock on Edmund’s face as you leapt and tackled him into the grass was one you were going to savour. Within seconds, the two of you were tussling atop each other like puppies, the world lost in a whirl of limbs and giggling.

You had the advantage, but Edmund was faster and stronger. It wasn’t long before he had you pinned beneath him, his face hovering just above yours and his arms forming a cage on either side of your head. Your legs were tangled together, one of Edmund’s knees trapped between yours, and your feet seeming to go every which way.

“You little minx” he panted, your mouths so close the two of you were almost sharing breaths “I was scared I’d really hurt you.”

“Will you forgive me if I yield?”

Edmund studied your face, the put upon pout, your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes shone with mirth, and felt what little resolve he had crumble.

“Of course. How could I stay mad at you?”

By way of apology, you reached up and pulled Edmund’s head down into a bruising kiss. He moaned, softly, before working your mouth open with his tongue, which you received without protest. Your bodies were flush together, the metal of his armour searing cold against your skin. You were about to offer to help him remove his chest plate, when your hips jerked up instinctively, knocking into Edmund’s and revealing the hardness in the front of his breeches as they brushed together.

Embarrassed, you broke the kiss and hid your face away in the side of his neck. The two of you had had many firsts together, but nothing that had ever gone below your waistlines. Edmund chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring in your ear.

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t worry about that, okay? I just want to focus on kissing and touching you. It’s all I’ve been able to think about lately, you’ve practically driven me to distraction.”

You looked up at your betrothed, who’s cheeks were equally as flushed and eyes equally as bright as your own. You thought about the first time he’d kissed you, beneath an apple tree in the orchard. You’d been scared then, and embarrassed too, but Edmund had guided you through it with as much patience and gentleness as anyone could have asked for. Since then, you knew you’d always be safe with him.

“Alright, I suppose I’ve caused you enough suffering for one day.”

Edmund laughed again, before bringing his mouth down to kiss your neck. You moaned, tilting your head to the side to give him better access, and this time when your hips bucked upwards, you didn’t feel as ashamed. It wasn’t long before he was tugging at your collar, trying to gain access to the tops of your breasts.

You slipped a hand between your bodies, doing the best you could to open the laces on your shirtfront despite the awkward angle. That was all the invitation Edmund needed. He began a trail of heated, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones, each one leaving a faint red mark in their wake. Your body felt as though it was on fire, pleasure and want coiling deep in your stomach.

Every sense you had was filled with Edmund, his smell, his taste, the feeling of his lips and fingers exploring your exposed torso. He touched you as though you were something precious, his personal goddess of love and beauty laid almost bear beneath him. You moaned his name over and over, like a prayer, begging your most devoted follower to offer all he had in the worship of your body and soul.

Edmund…Edmund…

“Edmund!”

The two of you split apart as though you had just been burned, Edmund scrambling to his feet while you hurriedly tried to arrange your shirtfront back into place. Above you stood Peter, every inch a High King with his face like thunder and the afternoon sunlight glinting off the peaks of his golden crown.

You kept your eyes trained to the ground, studying where the grass had been trampled0 beneath your footsteps earlier on. Any explanation for this was going to have to come from Edmund, your tongue had left you to fend for yourself and you wanted nothing more than for the training pitch to open up and swallow you up.

“Peter…I…we-” Edmund’s voice was shaky, sounding more like a little boy who’d been caught nicking sweets than a grown man of one and twenty.

“I have been looking for you. Everywhere.” Peter’s tone was even, but there was a biting inflection to each word that made you wince “The council. Has been looking for you.”

Edmund’s cheeks went from flushed to pale so quickly, you were afraid he might swoon.

“Oh God. The foreign policy meeting. Was that today?”

“Yes, Ed! It was hours ago, or would’ve been if you’d actually bothered to show up. I had a room of dignitaries and house representatives, some of them all the was from Calmoren, looking at me like I was the biggest fool ever to walk the face of the Earth, and asking where you were. As if I had any bloody idea!”

Peter’s shouts rang out through the air, clear and dripping with every ounce of disappointment the young king could muster. While his ire was directly entirely at Edmund, you couldn’t help the cold shock of guilt that was now settling in your stomach. Edmund had been distracted lately because of you, he’d even said so himself.

“I’m sorry!” you cried out suddenly, rising to your feet so you could take hold of Edmund’s hand “It’s my fault. He wanted to come and see me, that’s why he missed the meeting. I’m so sorry Pe- Your Highness.”

There was little change to Peter’s expression, saved for a single raised brow. However, his eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly as he looked you over, taking in your mussed shirt and hair, and the way you were clinging to Edmund’s arm.

“Who’s idea was it to come out here?”

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance, but said not a word.

Peter let out a sigh that seemed to come from the soles of his boots, before trying again.

“Tell me. Whose idea was it?”

“Mine.” Edmund interjected, before you could even open your mouth in his defence “I said we were going to have sparring practice”

It was all Peter could do not to roll his eyes.

“Wonderful. Then you can be the one to explain to the council why the meeting was moved to next week.”

Any glib comment Edmund might have made in reply was silenced as Peter grabbed his brother by the collar, and proceeded to drag him off by the scruff like a misbehaving puppy. You watched as Edmund was frogmarched across the training pitch, Peter half carrying him as though Edmund wasn’t at least a good foot taller and wearing full plate armour. The look on the High King’s face told you that this was something he’d had more practice doing than he probably liked.

They were about halfway across the field when Edmund finally wrenched himself free from Peter’s grasp, which in turn caused some sort of argument to break out. You were too far away to hear clearly, but you caught a snippet or two, mostly Peter’s exasperated baritone saying something about “the wedding is in a month, just wait, would you?”

He punctuated that statement by cuffing Edmund around the ear, and though the younger man yelped in protest, he didn’t return the blow. You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, imagining that this was also most likely a scene that had frequently played out in Edmund’s life. He seemed to forgive Peter quickly, however, since he didn’t pull away when Peter then slung an arm across his shoulders.

Before long, the two of them were approaching the cluster of trees just before the path that would lead back to the castle courtyard. Just before they disappeared from view, Edmund turned back to face you, brought a hand to his mouth and mimed tossing a kiss to where you were waiting. You laughed, delighted, and returned your own volley of kisses, which Edmund then pretended to store in his pockets for later.

Edmund was a lot of things. Stubborn. Sarcastic, and well acquainted with a healthy sense of mischief. But in spite of all that, at least he was never boring.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The guest pt 6

Masterlist

Jack walked away from his old friend, leaving Fagin in their shared room and marched down to the morgue and lower rooms in the hospital. His mind wandered to the two women in his life. Belle was most definitely beautiful and determined to become a surgeon, but is that enough? They had a sweet moment a few evenings before when Tinkler was particularly bad. He died that morning.

On the other hand there was y/n, easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, smarter than person he has known, yet you appeared to be quite mad. Or from the future a future where he was nothing but a story. Could he believe you? The way you had been dressed the first day he saw you at least gave some credence to your story. Still even if you were mad you had mentioned Nancy, no one here could put him and she together.

Jack ran his hand through his hair and turned back to his work, attempting to ignore all his thoughts.

*_*_*_*

Bored of time in bed you had walked downstairs in Government house, hearing voices in Edmund's office.

"Five-hundred gold sovereigns going missing on your watch is a bloody good reason to be shouting! Why the hell weren't you there, Gaines?" Edmund grumbled.

"You sent me on assignment, sir." Gaines says.

"The guards, they've all been...?"

"Searched and interrogated. Yes, sir. No culprit yet, but we will-"

" Find them! Flog everyone that was there. Stop the rot. Can't have 500 belly sovereigns go missing. There'll be a riot if I can't pay the soldiers."

"Yes, I understand, sir. I assure you, it's all in hand. With your leave."

"Go on." Gaines came storming through the doors stopping when he saw you. His eyes rake down your form, taking in the masculine trousers adorning your legs.

"Miss y/l/n"

"Good morning Captain, might I suggest you look closer to home?" You say, his curiosity gets the better of him and Gaines turns back to you.

"What does that mean?" He asks.

"Just, don't trust the people around you at home. Look a little closer." You say, folding your arms across your body and leaning one shoulder on the door frame. The Captain narrowed his eyes at you before turned on his heel and rushed off.

"Where's my Lancet?" You hear Belle ask.

"Your what?"

"Medical journal. Where?"

"Fanny borrowed some books. What about my library?"

"It's not like you read any of them!" She called back to her father as she came charging out.

"Belle, don't be too hard on Fanny. She is trying but she will get things wrong." You say grabbing her wrist. Belle sighed.

"So she has done something then?" Belle was aware that you knew things, sometimes things that you shouldn't and though the curiosity was killing her inside, she chose to simply use your knowledge, "I'm going into town today." You say to her.

"ahh perfect, I will need to as well, but I still need to do some research." She says

"I'll meet you there, at the hospital." You both agree and you dance away to the carriage waiting for you. Sitting there you looked at your arm, how the touch of fingers echoed in your mind. Both Jack's and Sneed's. How they were the same yet so different.

'no, you can't do this,' you thought to yourself, 'things must play out just as they did in the show'

You knew you were right, you had already deveated enough. You had no idea what being here would do to them, you or the show. Maybe you should have stayed tucked up in a room keeping away from everyone.

"Miss y/l/n, I wasn't aware you were coming here today." Sneed had opened the carriage door when it stopped. His hand reached out to help you step down, "I say, what unique attire you're wearing." He commented.

"Oh, yes, a little easier to move around. I'm sorry, like I said yesterday the hospital I work in insists women dress more appropriately for the high paced job." You give a small giggle and it appears to appease him somewhat. Sneed walked with you into the hospital.

"What brings you here today?" He asked.

"Oh, I needed to speak with Doctor Dawkins and his uncle. A private matter." You see Sneed's eyes darken at the mention of Jack's name.

"He isn't the man you think he is, y/n. Jack is... unsavoury."

"Don't worry, I know exactly who is, who he was and probably what he will be. Thank you Rainsford." You reassure him. Jack's voice sounds behind you and you quickly go to him leaving Sneed behind.

"Jack?" He looks at you, unable to speak for a moment.

"y/n you shouldn't, you...why are you here?" He asked looking around himself.

"I need to talk to you, and Fagin, quickly."

Jack sighs and pulls you into one of the back rooms.

"Jack, you tried to take the payroll right?" He frowned at you, "and you've squared yourself with Darius? Using his cheating thing?"

Jack took in a breath to speak but nothing came out, instead he moved closer to you, almost touching you.

"How do yo-...you weren't lying were you?" He whispered, you shake your head.

"No Jack I wasn't."

As if his body moved without his mind telling it, Jack reached up his hand to cup your jawline. Both of you took steps until your back touched the wall behind you.

"Jack" you whisper his name.

"You are remarkable." He whispers back to you. Your body wants to react, to lean your head just enough to press your lips to his.

"Wait, I came here for a reason. Listen you and Fagin need to get your stories straight. Gaines will be coming here and he thinks you stole the money."

"But we didn't." He says pressing himself closer to you.

"No, but his wife, she knew you were there for the soldiers she's trying to hide her affair. Just make sure you tell Gaines you're an only child, that Fagin is an uncle by marriage." You tell him, one hand resting on his chest.

"Okay." Jack agrees, his nose brushing over yours. With the hand you had on his chest you gently pushed Jack back.

"You must act completely normal today, nothing suspicious. I have to find Fagin." You say, stepping away from him. Jack held your wrist causing you to turn back to him.

"I want to speak with you more, please?" He asks with wide eyes.

"later." You nod and slip out of his grasp. You have to stop and catch your breath against the wall in the main corridor. You couldn't be sure if it was your medical condition or your body reacting to how close Jack had been to you.

A flash of an old frock coat catches your eye and you charge after Fagin, finding him sitting on a bench, in the courtyard outside the hospital.

"Fagin, I need you to listen to me. No, schemes or deviation okay." You speak sternly, "Gaines will be coming here. You and Jack need to keep your stories straight. You are his uncle by marriage. Jack is an only child. Okay? Do not change it in anyway."

With a side smile Fagin nodded, his eyes looking around himself. You clock Red coming in with a basket under her arm.

"Red boots." You whisper to the old man before watching Fagin saunter off. Sitting back on the bench you take a few moments to breathe slowly.

"I want Dawkins red-handed, you hear? Search every ward and cranny for the pay." Gaines' voice caught your attention and you watched him order his men just the way you had seen on screen. You tried to think of a way to slow the Captain down without changing too much of the scene.

"Captain Gaines?" You called over to him, marching over to him.

"you appear to be everywhere this morning, Miss y/l/n." He eyes you suspiciously.

"A lucky I am happy for, Captain. Have you had any yourself, in finding your lost coins?" You ask. His nose twitches with annoyance.

"Not yet, though I must thank you, you were right about looking at home. Seems the doctor was in attendance to my men." He says.

"Yes, I heard, you still owe money for that do you not?" You think quickly, "A dishonour to have a man such as yourself have to pay for keeping your men healthy. After all without you and the redcoats where would this town be?" You give his forearm a small squeeze and he looks at your hand before turning his eyes back to you.

"I do not disagree, though it is not often I hear the recognition."

"I have rarely come across a man as virtuous and righteous as yourself. This town would be a disaster without you." You hope the compliments would ease his disdain of anyone he would come across. Gaines dipped his head in a bow to you.

"You are extremely kind, miss. Now, may I ask why you are here at the hospital?"

"Oh, to see Doctor Sneed." You lie.

"very good. If you'll excuse me." Gaines gave you a smile that you would call almost sweet before he ran off. You knew you would have to waste time now visiting with Sneed so you rushed into the hospital to find him. He was in his office going over papers.

"Excuse me, Doctor Sneed?" You say knocking on the open door.

"Ahh, come in please. Have you concluded your business with Dawkins?" He asked, putting down the papers.

"I did. I just wanted to come in and thank you, thank you for your help over the last few days. When Lady Fanny found me I was disoriented, but you have been helpful to me." Sneed stood, gesturing to another chair for you to sit.

"I have to say, you are an extraordinary lady. You have an extensive knowledge of medical equipment and procedures, which would be a great help to any Doctor. You told.me of your father, but how would one contact the great man?" He asked.

"oh umm, no you can't. He um, he died when I was younger." You reply confused as to why he had asked.

"Oh, I am sorry, there is no other family then? Nothing of note?"

"No, I'm alone I suppose." You sigh.

"Well no matter. I mean, I am very sorry for your loss, but with my brother's generous gift within the nutmeg trade money would be no trouble. A dowry isn't necessary." He rambled on.

"Wait, a dowry? Rainsford are you...no." you stood up and half paced the room.

"No?"

"Look, you are a fine man but we just met. I hardly know you or anyone here truly." You say quickly .

"Then it is a matter of time?" He asks.

"No, I, umm. I'm sorry I don't...I should go." You say backing up to the door.

"Y/n, I am err,"

"No, Rainsford, I'm sorry, this was rather quick," you try to let him down easily, "I do not know if I wish to um, Join with anyone. Excuse me, Doctor." Your chest is squeezing tightly as you dart from the office, closing his door behind you.

Thank you for reading. ❤️

Let me know what you think!

@fandomfan-102 @deanstolemydragon

[winniemaywebber]

Honeysuckle Rose

masterlist

part two

“This is the Greater Anglia service to Bury st Edmunds. Calling at Diss, Ipswich, Elmswell, Thurston and Bury st Edmunds.” 

The familiar voice of the train announcer startles Olive awake, her head banging against the strong plastic window. She finds that, embarrassingly, she'd been drooling and she wipes her chin with disgust. Pulling out a compact mirror from her handbag, she takes stock of her bleary red eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, groaning at her rough appearance. All this was the result of a hangover, due to a celebration of her leaving the city the night prior. She had known it was a mistake the second she had agreed to having a going away party the very night before moving back to her hometown. Unfortunately, her fuck around and find out nature had consequences yet again, the movement of the train causing her stomach to churn, her insides doing somersaults and a subtle belch leaving an aftertaste of cheap cider clinging to her tongue. 

The countryside whizzes past the window as the train picks up speed from its previous stop, Olive trying her best to avoid looking at it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she wishes to be anywhere but here - here on this train, moving back to her hometown after finding a job after drama school didn't work out, her parents being extremely blasé about what she would do or where she would go next. They'd packed up and moved to South Africa on a whim six months prior, leaving Olive even more lost and confused than she already was after being thrust into adulthood and self sufficiency. It wasn't until Grandma Pearl had called two weeks ago, saying she needed an extra pair of hands at home while her regular helper Joan adjusted to widowhood. Olive had agreed - very begrudgingly, however. The thought of going back home after all this time had caused Olive's shoulders to seize up, the tension wracking her body.

“Wow, Olive Lewis!” a voice cries from across the carriage. Turning around, Olive sees a redheaded man walking cockily towards her. It's only when he's right in front of her and she smells his familiar scent that she recognizes him. “Long time!” 

“It sure has been, Kyle. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, good, good, thanks. You here to visit?”

“No, actually,” Olive says, gesturing towards her two large suitcases sat in the chairs opposite her. “I'm moving back. Moving in with Pearl for a little while.”

"Shit,” he says, his eyes suddenly full of sympathy. “I'm sorry things didn't work out.”

“Nah, don't be. It's okay. I think I need it, anyway. London's too loud, too overwhelming. Glad to be back.” It couldn't sound more untrue, despite the smile she'd plastered on her face. 

“Maybe we can grab a drink? Like old times.”

“Oh, yeah, Kyle. Cos that went so well the first time.” She blinks up at him through your lashes, lips pursed before pushing a breath out and smiling. “I'd like that,” she says. “Let me get settled and I'll call you. Same number?”

“Same number,” he responds, before beginning to walk away. “See ya, Olive.”

"Bye, Kyle!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she murmurs under her breath the second he's out of earshot. She'd been back in the county not even for half an hour and already the ghosts of her past were back to haunting her. Laying her head on the window and willing this migraine to disappear, she breathes out slowly, just wanting this day to be over. 

The train stops with a sudden jolt, Olive's head whacking against the plastic yet again. “Fuck me!” She yells, before staring apologetically at the other passengers. 

“Emergency stop. Cattle on train line. Thank you for your patience.” The booming, deep voice of the train conductor over the tannoy causes everyone to jump. So bloody British, a lady stands up and begins offering Murray Mints from a small bag. “We're going to be here a while,” she sings out, passing the bag along row by row. Taking one and smiling weakly in thanks, the nausea disappears the second the sweet is in her mouth. Peering out of the window once again, Olive takes in the place she grew up in, the beautiful green fields a shock to her eyes after living in a mostly gray, drizzly city like London for so long. 

Three dairy cows run along the field, the shell of an airplane stood in the middle of it. Trying her best to remember her local history, Olive recounts the model of the plane: a B-17, from when the Yanks had been stationed at nearby Thorpe Abbotts during the war. Feeling a strange nostalgia for a time she'll never get to experience, she pulls her book from her bag for the first time this journey, once again getting lost in A Midsummer Night's Dream.

taglist: @sagesolsticewrites @ginabaker1666 @piastrinho

Olive's playlist

part 2

[sunny-mercya]

Starry Skies

Edmund Pevensie x Male Reader

Fandom -> Chronicles of Narnia

Masterlist

«NO!»

A disbelieving shout left your lips, rushing in a sprinting towards and past Caspian—and like a shield, arm stretched out to your sides, an armour, you threw yourself between him and the Ice Mirror.

«The witch is not to be trusted.» said Peter, having followed after you just as quickly, facing Caspian—who hold his bleeding hand painfully.

The two erupted into a heating bickering argument. Throwing childish insults at one another and between all this, the Witch of iciest winter—Jadis—tried to coax all three of you, aiming more towards Peter and Caspian—as both of them are child's of Adam—to free her from her prisoning mirror.

Peter wasn't sure, couldn't remember—make sense of it—what exactly had happen in the next passing by minutes, but whatever he did had to be something awfully bad. Because what Peter clearly remembers, was you sucker punching him in the face.

Though let's try to rewind the moment;

His mind felt so fuzzy blurring and frogged, when Jadis had started to whisper her trickery lies of false promises and—like he had told before, he doesn't remember much—whatever she had said, even though Peter tried his best to block it out, stirred something in Peter.

Caspian watched, like a helpless fool—who, like a newbie, froze up and didn't know what to do in a situation like this—how Peter had taken a Dagger from his belt and stabbed it straightforward into your side. Pushing you, making you tumbling backwards, into the arms of Jadis.

«Why would you do this?! What is wrong with you?!» Caspian shouted in panic, looking at Peter with shocking disbelief.

And Jadis takes you gladly in her arms, holding you in a chokehold with one arm—cutting off the air circulations for your lungs, bringing you in a state of constant fish like gasping and clawing at her arm—while the hand of the other sneaks around your body—going from your chest down to your stomach—and digging her long boney finger into your wound.

A wickedly grin on her lips as she watches with mischievous glinting eyes, how utterly helpless Caspian and awestruck dumbfounded Peter looked.

«Thank you my dear High King Peter, for bringing my precious boy back in my arms, once again.»

Ever so slowly Jadis withdraw her hand, your blood dripping from her finger. In mere seconds she would be free again, thanks to your blood and Peter's oh so kind offering of you

You gripped Jadis wirst, before she could taste the blood, had it in a tight clutch and drew a hiss from her lips.

«I won't let it happen, witch.» gritting the words out through your teeth. Jadis too, grips your wirst and smearing your still warm blood onto your skin.

When you first had fallen into the world of Narnia—in the middle of the sea and thanks the god above, Edmund and the others were nearby—you were absolutely confused to where you were and how you got here and truthfully scared, because you swore you were just seconds ago with the Pevensie siblings at the underground-station in London.

Sure, you had a strange sensation of deja-vu's and feeling surreal throughout your adventures stay in Narnia, but you shook it off as something of just being overall anxious and paranoid.

Though now, in the hold of Jadis, a memory—a row of unpleasantly ones—keeps flashing through your mind.

You had been already in Narnia once before, in th captivity of the White Witch and after your freeing—thanks to Edmund—your mind had just blocked these memories completely in a form of self defense safety.

«You should've known better [Name] than to test me.»

With horror—and horrific terrifying it was—watched Caspian how Jadis, with that bit of magic left in her, freezing and defrost your arm completely in one go. Leaving a row of snowflake like scars—skin red and dripping with blood—behind.

Your agony filled screams, would haunt Caspian for the rest of his life and feelings of guilt forever seeded in him.

Caspian wasn't dumb, he had sawn the old faintly scars on your arm, he just hadn't connected the dots—till now—that you had gotten such scars from the Witch herself.

When Susan, Edmund and Lucy came rushing in, a fight between them and the henchmen of Jadis had broken out.

«I know, you had it sorted.» said Edmund annoyed, aiming his words at Peter. Putting his sword back in its holster—after destroying the mirror (and hopefully Jadis for final)—walking towards you.

After the mirror had sprung into splitters, you were dropped to the ground. Holding back your whimpers as you take in some deep breaths. Edmund helped you up, fretting over you and looking worried at your blue turned lips and how cold you felt.

You shrugged him off, muttering the lines of; I'm fine.

With your head held high, you walked past them towards the entrance. Wanting to be alone for now, away from this and them was all you wanted.

«You're not worthy to serve under me, the High King. A disappointment of a friend and knight you are–»

Susan tried, she really tired, to stop Peter from saying anything more. She knows that her brothers mouth could sometimes be faster than his mind and unnecessarily provoking.

It was too late. The harm already done. They watched with holding breath, how you stopped abruptly in your tracks. Hands clenching to fists.

«Shut the fuck up!» in a flash you turned around and punched Peter, with your pained wounded arm, in the face. Giving him a bloody nose and brought him tumbling down onto the ground.

«You say you're King, than act like one and get yer arrogance outta yer ass.» you told Peter with seething anger—fists trembling, facial features in a disappointing glare—looking down at him.

~~~

Edmund, he had followed you shortly after—not before giving Peter snide comments and a piece of his mind and hearing a loud gruelling scream, which had definitely come from you—found you a bit offside from the base, in the forest near a well. It seems you didn't really treated your wounds at all, leaving them bleeding while you stared, eyes puffing red and brimming with tears, mindlessly ahead of you.

Wordlessly he stepped towards you, taking a seat next to you. Edmund took, with the uttermost care, your arm—taking out the salve, a cloth and bandages he had brought with him—rinsing it clean and bandage it up.

Moving up your shirt, he inspected the stab wound. It didn't looked awfully deep, then again Edmund hadn't any medical knowledge at all, so he couldn't really tell. Though, just like with your arm, he did a basic first-aid.

You laid your head on Edmunds shoulders and he lets you cry it all out.

~~~

And when the final Battle had come.

«Together» «Forever»

«Till death and the beyond» facing each other—for the last time—intertwined your hands as you both repeated the vows, you two have given one another.

And when it all comes crashing down in the bitter end—the flaming stars in the sky above, being a witness to a everlasting love between two humans—you two will still be in adoration of one another.

[queenmarytudor]

Mary I's Fight For The Throne

18th August - Mary makes her first Royal proclamation

Following Mary's jubilant entry into London, fights instantly break out between the mixed population of Catholics and Protestants. A priest who performs Mass has his chalice and vestments stolen, and "two or three hundred people assembled and made such riot that the mayor had been obliged to go in person to quell the tumult." 1 while on the 15th a "defamatory leaflet was scattered about the streets of the town:

"Noblemen and gentlemen favouring the word of God, take counsel together and join with all your power and your following! Withdraw yourselves from our virtuous Lady, Queen Mary, because Rochester, Walgrave, Inglefield, Weston and Hastings, hardened and detestable papists all, follow the opinions of the said Queen. Fear not, and God will prosper and help our holy design and intent; be assured that they have no great strength now, except two archpapists, Derby and Stourton; Arundel might be mentioned as the third, with the renegades (Sir Edmund) Peckham and (Sir William) Drury, chamberlain, who have no great power. As to the other personages in the country, of whatever condition they may be, they will assuredly prove tractable and conform to our belief, as we have seen by experience during the last seven years. But Winchester, the great devil, must be exorcised and exterminated with his disciples named above, before he can poison the people and wax strong in his religion. Draw near to the Gospels, and your guardian shall be the crown of glory!" 2

Hearing of this, and after already giving the Mayor and alderman of London "a writing to act and provide accordingly, and let it be known in the proper quarter, without making any solemn proclamation", Mary decides she must make an official statement. 3

On the 18th of August Mary makes her first royal proclamation regarding religion:

Her Grace, considering the great troubles and dangers that were brought forth in the past by the diversity of opinions and questioning about religion within the kingdom, and having learnt moreover that since her accession to the throne contentions have sprung up afresh owing to certain rumours and false reports circulated by wicked persons disposed to evil doing, has determined to make her resolve known to her faithful subjects, as follows:

First, her Majesty, being now in possession of her Imperial crown and estate pertaining to it, cannot forsake that faith that the whole world knows her to have followed and practised since her birth; she desires rather, by God's grace, to preserve it until the day of her death; and she desires greatly that her subjects may come to embrace the same faith quietly and with charity, whereby she shall receive great happiness. She makes known to her beloved subjects that out of her goodness and clemency she does not desire to compel anyone to do so for the present, or until by common consent a new determination shall be come to; but she forbids all and sundry of her loving subjects, of every age and condition, under the penalty of the law to stir up tumult or sedition among her people, on the pretext of upholding certain laws of the kingdom made according to the fantasies of men; but rather commands them to live quietly until fresh ordinances be made, because her Majesty desires, and strictly orders and commands, that all shall live in peace and Christian charity. Words of recent introduction, bandied as insults, such as “papist,” “heretic” and so forth, shall be dropped; and all men, by possessing their souls in the fear of God, and by a rightous life and holy deeds, shall truly show their desire to glorify God and His Word, as they profess in their reasonings and disputations to desire it. By these practices, and by honouring God, men shall live without fear and the tranquillity of the kingdom shall be maintained, whence her Grace shall derive great joy and contentment. But if any were to presume to hold conventicles in public or in private, and sow dissension among the people, her Majesty makes it known that she would do her duty in reforming their ways and punishing those who should be guilty of going against her laws.

Moreover, as we see that false rumours and reports are nourished and maintained by certain evilly-disposed persons who take upon themselves, without sufficient authority, to preach and interpret the word of God according to their own mind, in churches and elsewhere, publicly and privately, and by representations, by false printed books of recent composition, in rhymes, ballads and other foolish and unreasonable ways attack the ministers of God and the articles of the Christian religion which they have recently brought into controversy, which books, rhymes and treatises are given out by the printers and booksellers with evil zeal to sell them and make their profit, or rather with greed of unjust gain; her Majesty commands and strictly charges every one of her subjects, of whatever age and condition, that no one shall henceforth, under pretext of sermons or lessons, either in church, publicly or privately, interpret the Scriptures, or teach anything pertaining to religion, except it be in the schools of the university. Neither shall they print any book, treatise, dialogue, rhyme, ballad, comedy or argument except by special, written command of her Majesty, under pain of her displeasure.

Her Majesty strictly commands all and sundry that no one among her subjects shall presume by his own act to punish or rise against those who may go against the law, or against any who may have taken part by word or deed in the past rebellion made by the Duke of Northumberland and his accomplices; neither shall they take their goods nor offend them in their persons by violence or imprisonment or similar acts; but they shall refer them to her Majesty or her officers, so that they may be punished according to the law. Her Majesty does not wish to discourage any man from denouncing or giving information concerning those who may be guilty of the above-named offences against her own person or the members of her Privy Council, so that they may be punished as the law ordains.

Her Majesty enjoins upon all her subjects the observance of the said commands, and decrees that they shall everywhere bend to her will without reserve, and thus avoid her displeasure and the rigour of her wrath, giving her no cause for sorrow; being determined to leave no deed unpunished that may be committed rebelliously against the law, so that there may follow no troubles or disorders, but the laws be carried out to the letter.

Her Majesty hopes that her loving subjects will conduct themselves befittingly; and, in fine, she commands and strictly enjoins upon her mayors, sheriffs, justices, bailiffs, constables and other officers and public administrators to use all diligence in the observance and execution of her will and commands, and to see to it that they who shall wilfully break them be sent to the nearest public prison and kept there until notice be given to her Majesty or her Privy Council of their names and the fault imputed to them, together with their replies on examination; after which they shall receive their punishment according to the law, as an example to the rest. 4

On the same day, at Westminster Hall, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland is found guilty of treason. After being released following Mary's entry into London, the "Duke of Norfolk, sitting under the cloth of estate, gave judgement". 5

The execution is planned for the 21st, however it is delayed a day once Northumberland recants Protestantism. He "received the holy sacrament, heard mass devoutly and performed all the customary acts of devotion according to the ancient religion, declaring loudly before those who were in the Tower that since he had forsaken God and the Church to follow the new religion he had done no good, and his actions had been unfortunate. He confessed publicly that he had continued in error for three or four years, and went so far as to approve the authority of the Roman Church, using words that avowed the said authority, as we have been told. He did not merely declare what is said above in the Tower, but repeated the same words on the scaffold, loudly, before the people. He recommended them to obey the Queen, whom he called good and virtuous, saying that she had attained the throne miraculously, by reason of her true right by inheritance, and that therein he acknowledged the hand of God." 6

On the 22nd of August "the Duke of Northumberland and Sir John Gates, late Captain of the Guard, and Sir Thomas Palmer, knights, were all three beheaded on the Tower hill, between 8 and 9 of the clock in the forenoon, and after their bodies and heads were carried into the Tower again." 7

Sources:

1. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

2. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

3. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

4. Spanish State Papers, 16th August 1553

5. Wriothesley's Chronicle

6. Spanish State Papers, 27th August 1553

7. Wriothesley's Chronicle