Request: if you’re still taking Narnia requests, can I get an Edmund x reader where people call her “the best archer in Narnia” and Edmund realizes he has feelings for her and he tells Lucy “I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her” and it’s just cute and fluffy haha I just love Edmund
This oneshot is so disgustingly late. I’m terrible.
Peter Pevensie liked Y/N. She was nearing twenty-one, so she wasn’t the same age as sixteen year old Lucy, but the two girls got along well. Y/N was the only one who would spar with Lucy during training, when Narnia wasn’t waging war with another country. She would make an effort to be friends with Susan, helped Peter with diplomatic papers, and would hunt with Edmund.
It really didn’t hurt that Y/N fit in well to the family dynamic the Pevensies had.
Susan Pevensie had never hated Y/N, but she’d never really liked her. Now that she’d had to replace archery with courtly matters, people stopped calling her the best archer of Narnia - apparently Y/N got that title now.
It was incredibly bad form to feel petty about this, but Susan was irritated. Her feathers were ruffled (as Peter would say). Sometimes being Queen didn’t matter. She wanted it all in a world where she could actually have everything she’d ever wanted.
Beyond that, though … Y/N was alright. She was nice. She had dazzling eyes, uniquely so, and she was all sharp angles and high cheekbones. Probably would have looked ugly if she was any other girl, but Y/N just elegant. At least Susan could discuss the latest fashions with her, so. That was something.
Lucy Pevensie really liked Y/N. She was the big sister that Lucy had always wanted. Susan was busy being a Queen. Apparently that entailed manipulating politics, maintaining foreign relations, and when the elder female Pevensie wasn’t doing that, she was going to balls and high tea with other court ladies. Y/N would spend time with Lucy, though, so Lucy liked her quite a lot.
They’d grown close in the years that the Pevensies had had to rule Narnia.
Edmund Pevensie was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, the best archer in Narnia.
“You’ll have to tell her at some point,” Susan grumped to Edmund. He was with Peter and Susan in a room (of sorts) they’d turned into their castle headquarters.
Edmund shook his head. “I don’t have feelings for her, Su.” That was a complete lie. But nobody needed to know that. “Aren’t we getting distracted, anyway? Telmar forces have been prodding at our border. We need to handle this before they decide to plan an invasion.”
Peter looked at him. “Even if you don’t have feelings for Y/N, I think she has feelings for you, Ed. Eventually it has to come up.”
There was a knock at the door - Lucy burst in seconds later. “I’ve got a letter from Calormen,” she announced. She waved the cream-colored, thick letter over her head. It had been opened, from what the other three could see. “King Doire and Queen Eara accepted our invitation for the masked ball next month. They want to bring their children with them. And half their court, practically.”
Susan and Peter simultaneously groaned. “I was rather hoping they wouldn’t be able to accept,” Peter murmured.
He gestured for Lucy to shut the door. Nobody was supposed to hear anything that was said in here, even if all they were discussing was a masquerade.
King Doire and Queen Eara had three children. Dafydd was the oldest at twenty-five, and the Crown Prince. Princess Maisie was nineteen and the kind of girl who talked a lot about politics and horse-riding. Prince Rhett was thirteen and the youngest. He was more reserved and inclined towards building things, from what the Pevensies had gleaned.
“Well, they’ve accepted,” Susan said with a resigned sigh. “We’ll need to alert the kitchens, and have the rest of the servants begin making preparations for our guests. Peter, have Tumnus see if a few druids can’t sculpt something nice in honor of Doire and Eara.”
In two weeks, Cair Paravel underwent a massive change. Armfuls of decorations were made every day: fairy-lights to string and wind down along the stone columns; drapery as light as feathers was made to be wound along the tables and looked like roses; paintings of nature and magical-realism were hung strategically around the castle.
The kitchen had been alerted of the other royal family’s dietary needs and were preparing a two-week menu catered to suit both their needs/wants and those of the Pevensies’. Some of the best musicians were being brought in a week early so that they could put together a long, soft musical background for the banquet and for post-dinner dancing. There were lute players, harp and cello players, a duduk musician - just about every instrument player imaginable was brought in to compose songs and practice old ones to put into the perfect arrangement.
Peter could think of nothing else. Half his attention went to preparing for the royal guests coming, and the other was spent dealing with skirmishes along Narnia’s borders, hearing complaints from peasant regions, and navigating politics (which were now mainly involved trying to form an alliance with Telmar, discussing environmental laws within the court, and being involved with representational duties).
Not to mention training every day, of course.
Lucy peered at Edmund. They were training in the courtyard - Lucy with her new sword-cane, Edmund with his sword. He’d named it Morgenstern (claiming that the name meant ‘Morning Star’, and it was personal choice, anyway).
“So when are you going to tell her?” Lucy asked. She’d named her sword-cane Onyx, and it was starting to become like an extension of her hand. The learning was slow-going. There was an opportunity to side-step and go in for a pulled stab. She took it.
“Tell who what?” Edmund asked guarded. He parried her attack and swung her arm up. “You’re not talking about Y/N again, are you?” The courtyard had people littered throughout it, practicing and talking and laughing. Edmund was careful to keep Lucy in their training circle. Morgenstern had been with him for a few years now, and sometimes it was like the sword was alive in his hand; automatically, habitually, he twisted around his arm so that Lucy’s sword-cane was behind her back. Morgenstern’s blade-tip was pointed at her throat. “I win, again. You’re slow, sister-mine.”
Lucy stuck out her tongue. “I was distracted.” Her hands went up to pull her ginger hair into a fresh bun. “And yes, I was. She’s here, too, you know. Getting in some archery practice.”
Edmund gave her a sharp look. “What do I care? I know she practices here every day. We’re friends.” Of course it mattered. Mainly because Y/N was his honest-to-Aslan best friend now, and he’d spent the entirety of their three year friendship wanting and obsessing over someone he couldn’t have.
Y/N was apparently too hung up on Eatymon Hunter to ever love Ed the way her loved her.
“Maybe you should go talk to her anyway. Looks like she could use help; she’s been looking over here for the past hour.” Lucy wasn’t actually sure if that was true, but she’d just caught Y/N looking over in Ed’s general direction, before realizing Lucy had seen her and turned away, blushing.
“Fine. Maybe I will.” But Edmund didn’t move, too busy drinking water now out of his water-skin.
There was an actual masked ball the night that the Calormen royalty came to Narnia. It was also the night that Crown Prince Dafydd decided to ask Y/N to a dance.
“My lady, they mentioned they had a family friend here, but the mentions in a letter from High Kind Peter did not do you justice,” he told you.
You could feel yourself flaring up. “I’m sure he was accurate, my prince,” you replied, curtesying.
“No, indeed. You are fairer then starlight.” Dafydd offered his hand to you; you took it graciously. He was broad-shouldered with a square jaw and curling black hair. Not necessarily your type, but close enough.
“You flatter me, Prince Dafydd. Tell me, do you tell every pretty woman you see that very line?”
While he might not be your type, he was a very good substitute for someone like Edmund. At least Dafydd was more forward, and openly flattering.
He chuckled. “No, just once tonight. Are you from Narnia, Lady Y/N?”
While you weren’t technically a Lady, you decided not to correct Dafydd. For once it was kind of refreshing to experience the sort of attention that noble ladies received. You actually commanded part of the Narnian army. As a result, you were revered for your military prowess … and not much else. Being a rising commander so young meant you’d never really had the option - or the time - to find a suitor.
“I consider myself a Narnian, though I am originally from Archenland; hence the slight accent. My father was a merchant who eventually decided to take up residency here. He and my mother travelled a lot, and this was the safest country to have a child in. They’ve stayed here every since.”
Dafydd seemed genuinely interested. “And what about your mother? What does she do?”
“She found work as a seamstress, and then as a clothes-maker. She’s employed constantly by noblemen and noble ladies.” You weren’t particularly embarrassed that your parents weren’t from the court, nor were they royal. They were good, honest people. Everybody and their profession was valued in Narnia since the Kings and Queens had been crowned.
“Yet here you are in the court …” Dafydd looked at you, his question hanging in the air and unasked.
“I command a fleet of Narnia’s army.” You smirked at the impressed look on his face, at the other cocktail of emotions he was hiding relatively well. It was always satisfying to brag subtly about your accomplishments to royalty, especially when you knew they doubted you some.
“I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her,” Edmund snapped to Peter. He’d been somewhat moody all day, and now he felt pushed over some arbitrary line having to see Y/N dancing with Prince Dafydd.
Peter laughed. They’d just finished dancing, and were now observing the ball near the refreshments table. There were fire-eaters outside, as well as little jousting rings, and darts and cards inside for those who were inclined towards sitting-down. “About time, brother. You’ve only been pining for, what, five years?”
Edmund scowled at his brother. “Have not. Only three - ” and then he watched Peter chortle.
“So you admit, finally, you’ve spent years with feelings for her. Good. I was about say that we should form a marriage alliance with Calormen.” By then, the song had ended, and Prince Dafydd had broken away from Y/N. It seemed as if he was going to fetch them both drinks. “Now’s your chance, Ed.” Peter wanted to be encouraging, but Aslan knew his younger brother would need a lot of prodding before he was actually emotionally vulnerable with someone.
As it turned out, the dark-haired Pevensie didn’t need to be told twice. Edmund strode off towards Y/N.
You were half-way to a chair - your feet were positively aching - when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Grinning, you turned around while saying, “That was quite fast, Prince Da - oh! Ed. Hello. Didn’t expect you to show up with a mask.” You were only joking. He took these events more seriously then you did.
“Listen, Y/N, I’ve got - I mean, well - could we go to a balcony for a moment? I’d like a moment alone with you.” Edmund ran a hand through his tousled hair. There was color in his pale face, and his lips seemed fuller, oddly enough, from having been worried. You hated yourself for noticing. He wasn’t yours to want or love, and that seemed like somebody who was in love with him would notice. And you weren’t in love with him (you were, actually, but that had to be ignored).
You nodded carefully, tugging absently on a string of your hair, curled to perfection. Ed’s eyes were dark, like the sky when it was plunged into nighttime. All the lights reflected there made his look like galaxies, and the emotion behind them was contained and emotional; it was a bit painful for you to behold. You took his hand and let him lead you out.
As far as you were concerned, Prince Dafydd had been completely forgotten.