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narniaexchangeTitle: All’s Fair in Rose Bushes and Cricket
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mogseltof
Recipient:101adela
All’s Fair in Rose Bushes and Cricket
“ Dear Mother and Father,
“ All is well, though we are missing you something fierce. The others will, I expect, add their own missives onto the bottom of this, but for now it’s just Peter.”
Just Peter. Ordinary Peter with ordinary Susan and ordinary Edmund and ordinary Lucy. It didn’t sting as much as he thought it might’ve, if he’d thought about this outcome while he was still in Narnia.
Narnia felt in part like a dream. They had to fight to stop it from slipping into the backs of their heads and becoming muddled, and in part they were beginning to lose. Susan and Edmund had already gotten into an argument over a sequence of events. Susan hated losing anything, so whenever it happened to her she would scowl and tell another story - memory - to reel it back in.
Lucy had started writing them down.
“ Susan keeps losing track of which game we’re playing – it vexes her a fair bit.”
‘Vexes’. That was an accurate word. It vexed Lucy whenever she’d go to reach for her cordial to make sure it was with her and it wasn’t there. It vexed Peter that Edmund wouldn’t just talk to them.
“ Edmund I think misses you more than he says. You know Edmund though – he doesn’t like talking to people about emotions.”
“Go away Peter!” he’d said furiously the first time Peter had noticed, and asked if Edmund was alright. “I’m fine!”
“No you’re not,” Peter said patiently. “We both know you’re not.”
“I’m fine,” Edmund insisted, shoving past him to go outside.
Peter paused, pen just above the paper, wondering what he could write next. Their stay so far had been nothing short of amazing, let alone eventful, but he could hardly write about all the things they had gotten up to. For one he was writing a letter, not a biography, and for another there was simply the fact that they couldn’t tell them about Narnia.
“The Professor is very nice, and always willing to listen to us. He’s helping Lucy write a story, and sometimes he’ll help me with my Latin.”
The Professor would listen. If only Edmund would though. Peter sighed and put down his pen. It was no use; he’d have to go talk to him. It was just getting out of hand and Edmund only grew darker and moodier by the day. He stared out the window, watching Susan race after a ball that Lucy had hit, the two girls laughing silently outside while Edmund rolled his eyes.
Peter folded up his piece of paper and slid it into the book he was reading, mind turning over systematically. He could try and connect with Edmund, or he could let his brother continue on as he was – dark and moody. It wasn’t really a choice at all.
He walked out of the small room and down the hall, heading determinedly towards the door. It opened as he reached it, Lucy, Susan and Edmund spilling out into the hallway. Lucy and Susan were flushed with exercise and laughter. Edmund had a wooden smile on his face.
“Peter! You should have come and played a few innings with us!” Susan said, smiling broadly. “It was great fun!”
“Until Edmund lost the ball,” Lucy said through her giggles.
“It was a good hit at any rate,” Edmund said plainly, moving to shove past them.
Peter stuck out his arm and stopped him from moving past as the two girls went down the hall.
“We’re going to get a drink – do you two want one?” Susan asked over her shoulder.
“No, we’ll be fine,” Peter said to her, leaning slightly on Edmund to turn him around and back outdoors. “Better look for that ball.”
The girls’ laughter followed them out, but Edmund scowled and glared at Peter. He wrested his arm out of Peter’s grasp and turned to face him, his features dark and angry. “I’ll find the ball myself.”
“No need, I’ll help. I needed to get out anyway,” Peter said in an off-handed tone, shoving his hands into his pockets and ambling up next to Edmund. Edmund glared at him again and stalked off towards a set of bushes far away from where their stumps had been set up.
“Quite a hit then,” Peter said benevolently, lengthening his stride to keep up with Edmund’s quickening pace.
He got a grunt in return.
The ball was not in the bushes. A broken branch was though, and Edmund received a long, thin, red scratch up his arm for his pains in looking. “Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there and make stupid comments?” he snapped at Peter.
Peter resisted the urge to sigh, and instead took hold of Edmund’s arm, inspecting the scratch. “I think you’ll live somehow,” he said dryly.
Edmund snatched his arm out of Peter’s grasp and sent him a filthy look. “Will you stop that!” he said harshly, stalking off. Peter bit his lip; he had a very clear visual image of a cat in his brother’s place. He shook his head and kept walking.
The ball was not in the rose bush either, though thorns were definitely sharper and more numerous than broken branches as Peter found out. He yelped and drew his arm back out of the bright red flowers, bleeding profusely from the numerous scratches on his hand.
“Are you alright?” Edmund asked, concern clearing his face for a minute.
“I’ll be fine,” Peter said cheerfully, shaking his hand out and not quite holding in a wince.
Edmund’s face darkened again. “Don’t be thick about it,” he muttered, holding the hand up. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”
“They’re only shallow.”
“There are at least three that have ripped through deeply!” Edmund said with a scowl. “At least sit down until it stops bleeding quite so much.”
“Yes, doctor,” Peter said with a twitch of a smile, sitting down. Edmund sat down across from him, still scowling darkly.
“Don’t,” he said abruptly, not looking at Peter.
“Don’t what?”
“Do things like call me ‘doctor’ or insist on spending time with me – I’m not some kind of child, and you know I hate being teased.”
“Actually we’re both children,” Peter said in a tone of voice that he knew had been described as ‘infuriatingly reasonable’.
“Peter.”
“Edmund.”
They paused for a moment, Edmund’s gaze cast downward at his hands, Peter’s held steadily on Edmund’s face, both waiting for the first move. Peter internally sighed and put his middle pawn forward.
“Edmund, you do know that you’re allowed to talk to us when you’re… upset,” he said tentatively, unsure of his choice of wording.
Edward’s head jerked up, meeting Peter’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he said, voice steely. “I’ve told you I’m fine. Why won’t you just listen?”
“Because you won’t!” Peter said, snapping. He glared at his brother, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. “We both know that you’re lying so why do you even bother? You’re not okay Edmund and you haven’t been for at least a week!”
Edmund flushed a deep, angry red. "I'm fine!" he yelled, jumping to his feet.
"No you're not!" Peter yelled back, also leaping to his feet. He took a few deep breaths; knowing that a screaming match wouldn't solve matters. “You’re really not.”
Edmund stared at him for a second before bursting into hysterical laughter and almost falling back down. “We- we’re- we’re acting like two year olds!”
Peter couldn’t help – he succumbed. When he looked at Edmund next though, the laughter had given way to silent tears. Peter sighed and knelt in front of his brother. “Edmund?”
Edmund blinked up at him through a befuddled mess of wet hair, red face and bleary eyes. “I just… none of you need me here and I know that sometimes I’m definitely not wanted here,” he said, hiccuping slightly.
Peter refrained from yelling or resorting to physical violence. “You know,” he settled on after a long moment. “For someone who can be so intelligent, you’re very thick sometimes.”
“I – what?”
Peter laughed and didn’t stop laughing while Edmund looked at him, completely puzzled. “Oh sod the ball,” Peter said eventually, standing up again and grasping Edmund’s arm to pull him up with him. “I’d prefer having you around over it any way.”
It was a much lighter Edmund Pevensie who went back up to the house, sans cricket ball.
Original prompt we sent you:
What I want: A fic set during the Golden Age where Edmund gives Peter a massage after a stressful day or something and it turns into sex. Or (if they don't want to write slash) a hurt/comfort fic between a younger Edmund (LWWish age) and Peter- maybe Edmund is trying to deny it but Peter can see he needs comforting
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Anything
What I definitely don't want in my fic: beastility, bloodplay, femslash- anything else is fine =3
Author:
mogseltofRecipient:
101adelaAll’s Fair in Rose Bushes and Cricket
“ Dear Mother and Father,
“ All is well, though we are missing you something fierce. The others will, I expect, add their own missives onto the bottom of this, but for now it’s just Peter.”
Just Peter. Ordinary Peter with ordinary Susan and ordinary Edmund and ordinary Lucy. It didn’t sting as much as he thought it might’ve, if he’d thought about this outcome while he was still in Narnia.
Narnia felt in part like a dream. They had to fight to stop it from slipping into the backs of their heads and becoming muddled, and in part they were beginning to lose. Susan and Edmund had already gotten into an argument over a sequence of events. Susan hated losing anything, so whenever it happened to her she would scowl and tell another story - memory - to reel it back in.
Lucy had started writing them down.
“ Susan keeps losing track of which game we’re playing – it vexes her a fair bit.”
‘Vexes’. That was an accurate word. It vexed Lucy whenever she’d go to reach for her cordial to make sure it was with her and it wasn’t there. It vexed Peter that Edmund wouldn’t just talk to them.
“ Edmund I think misses you more than he says. You know Edmund though – he doesn’t like talking to people about emotions.”
“Go away Peter!” he’d said furiously the first time Peter had noticed, and asked if Edmund was alright. “I’m fine!”
“No you’re not,” Peter said patiently. “We both know you’re not.”
“I’m fine,” Edmund insisted, shoving past him to go outside.
Peter paused, pen just above the paper, wondering what he could write next. Their stay so far had been nothing short of amazing, let alone eventful, but he could hardly write about all the things they had gotten up to. For one he was writing a letter, not a biography, and for another there was simply the fact that they couldn’t tell them about Narnia.
“The Professor is very nice, and always willing to listen to us. He’s helping Lucy write a story, and sometimes he’ll help me with my Latin.”
The Professor would listen. If only Edmund would though. Peter sighed and put down his pen. It was no use; he’d have to go talk to him. It was just getting out of hand and Edmund only grew darker and moodier by the day. He stared out the window, watching Susan race after a ball that Lucy had hit, the two girls laughing silently outside while Edmund rolled his eyes.
Peter folded up his piece of paper and slid it into the book he was reading, mind turning over systematically. He could try and connect with Edmund, or he could let his brother continue on as he was – dark and moody. It wasn’t really a choice at all.
He walked out of the small room and down the hall, heading determinedly towards the door. It opened as he reached it, Lucy, Susan and Edmund spilling out into the hallway. Lucy and Susan were flushed with exercise and laughter. Edmund had a wooden smile on his face.
“Peter! You should have come and played a few innings with us!” Susan said, smiling broadly. “It was great fun!”
“Until Edmund lost the ball,” Lucy said through her giggles.
“It was a good hit at any rate,” Edmund said plainly, moving to shove past them.
Peter stuck out his arm and stopped him from moving past as the two girls went down the hall.
“We’re going to get a drink – do you two want one?” Susan asked over her shoulder.
“No, we’ll be fine,” Peter said to her, leaning slightly on Edmund to turn him around and back outdoors. “Better look for that ball.”
The girls’ laughter followed them out, but Edmund scowled and glared at Peter. He wrested his arm out of Peter’s grasp and turned to face him, his features dark and angry. “I’ll find the ball myself.”
“No need, I’ll help. I needed to get out anyway,” Peter said in an off-handed tone, shoving his hands into his pockets and ambling up next to Edmund. Edmund glared at him again and stalked off towards a set of bushes far away from where their stumps had been set up.
“Quite a hit then,” Peter said benevolently, lengthening his stride to keep up with Edmund’s quickening pace.
He got a grunt in return.
The ball was not in the bushes. A broken branch was though, and Edmund received a long, thin, red scratch up his arm for his pains in looking. “Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there and make stupid comments?” he snapped at Peter.
Peter resisted the urge to sigh, and instead took hold of Edmund’s arm, inspecting the scratch. “I think you’ll live somehow,” he said dryly.
Edmund snatched his arm out of Peter’s grasp and sent him a filthy look. “Will you stop that!” he said harshly, stalking off. Peter bit his lip; he had a very clear visual image of a cat in his brother’s place. He shook his head and kept walking.
The ball was not in the rose bush either, though thorns were definitely sharper and more numerous than broken branches as Peter found out. He yelped and drew his arm back out of the bright red flowers, bleeding profusely from the numerous scratches on his hand.
“Are you alright?” Edmund asked, concern clearing his face for a minute.
“I’ll be fine,” Peter said cheerfully, shaking his hand out and not quite holding in a wince.
Edmund’s face darkened again. “Don’t be thick about it,” he muttered, holding the hand up. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”
“They’re only shallow.”
“There are at least three that have ripped through deeply!” Edmund said with a scowl. “At least sit down until it stops bleeding quite so much.”
“Yes, doctor,” Peter said with a twitch of a smile, sitting down. Edmund sat down across from him, still scowling darkly.
“Don’t,” he said abruptly, not looking at Peter.
“Don’t what?”
“Do things like call me ‘doctor’ or insist on spending time with me – I’m not some kind of child, and you know I hate being teased.”
“Actually we’re both children,” Peter said in a tone of voice that he knew had been described as ‘infuriatingly reasonable’.
“Peter.”
“Edmund.”
They paused for a moment, Edmund’s gaze cast downward at his hands, Peter’s held steadily on Edmund’s face, both waiting for the first move. Peter internally sighed and put his middle pawn forward.
“Edmund, you do know that you’re allowed to talk to us when you’re… upset,” he said tentatively, unsure of his choice of wording.
Edward’s head jerked up, meeting Peter’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he said, voice steely. “I’ve told you I’m fine. Why won’t you just listen?”
“Because you won’t!” Peter said, snapping. He glared at his brother, something he hadn’t done in quite a while. “We both know that you’re lying so why do you even bother? You’re not okay Edmund and you haven’t been for at least a week!”
Edmund flushed a deep, angry red. "I'm fine!" he yelled, jumping to his feet.
"No you're not!" Peter yelled back, also leaping to his feet. He took a few deep breaths; knowing that a screaming match wouldn't solve matters. “You’re really not.”
Edmund stared at him for a second before bursting into hysterical laughter and almost falling back down. “We- we’re- we’re acting like two year olds!”
Peter couldn’t help – he succumbed. When he looked at Edmund next though, the laughter had given way to silent tears. Peter sighed and knelt in front of his brother. “Edmund?”
Edmund blinked up at him through a befuddled mess of wet hair, red face and bleary eyes. “I just… none of you need me here and I know that sometimes I’m definitely not wanted here,” he said, hiccuping slightly.
Peter refrained from yelling or resorting to physical violence. “You know,” he settled on after a long moment. “For someone who can be so intelligent, you’re very thick sometimes.”
“I – what?”
Peter laughed and didn’t stop laughing while Edmund looked at him, completely puzzled. “Oh sod the ball,” Peter said eventually, standing up again and grasping Edmund’s arm to pull him up with him. “I’d prefer having you around over it any way.”
It was a much lighter Edmund Pevensie who went back up to the house, sans cricket ball.
Original prompt we sent you:
What I want: A fic set during the Golden Age where Edmund gives Peter a massage after a stressful day or something and it turns into sex. Or (if they don't want to write slash) a hurt/comfort fic between a younger Edmund (LWWish age) and Peter- maybe Edmund is trying to deny it but Peter can see he needs comforting
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: Anything
What I definitely don't want in my fic: beastility, bloodplay, femslash- anything else is fine =3
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Date: 2011-08-29 03:34 am (UTC)