fic prompts: hit me

[bedlamsbard]

I am still kindly telling myself that I'm not writing Peta Pevensie (you're not writing it unless it's in a Word document! All wise people know this is true, unless of course you prefer a word processing program other than Word), and Caspian-in-the-Golden-Age is kicking my butt, and I don't want to look at any of my other WIPs or my unbegun apocalyptothon story, and my tools of procrastination right now are knitting and solitaire, and after a thousand games of solitaire, well...sanity? Going. It will be back in a bit when I take my computer down to go watch the Olympics, because I feel bad doing anything other than writing on the computer when I'm watching TV (in this case, comment fics actually do count as writing, but I'm not actually writing them -- look, this distinction makes sense in my head), but at the moment? Sanity? Gone.

So! Give me fic prompts (Narnia, please), and I don't promise anything, but maybe then we will get somewhere. (And God, yes, all right, Peta counts.)

Comments

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

The time Edmund juggled knives! PLEASE?

(Did Edmund ever betray Peta? Something tells me she'd have killed him before he got the chance to explain...)

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

The more fool, she!

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

General Acarons is in the crowd. Edmund could let his hands "slip" and take care of all their problems -- until, of course, King Marroquin replaces him with one of his senior lieutenants, the majority of whom are even worse than Acarons. Next to Acarons are two of said lieutenants, Sahagun and Duavis, and a small coterie of junior lieutenants. One of them is the man Edmund's here to meet.

He's learned how to watch his knives and the crowd at the same time, but he keeps most of his attention on the knives, mostly because he's not as good at this as Peter or Lucy and he doesn't want to accidentally kill himself. One, two, three, four, five, all going up in shining silver arcs, and Edmund steps back to let them come down in a perfect circle around him, points sticking in the ground and hilts up.

The crowd applauds politely, and Edmund sweeps a bow before gathering up the knives and stepping behind the curtain, where the group of Tatuie dancers are waiting to go out. "He's there," he whispers in Ainala's ear, and she nods.

Waiting, he busies himself cleaning and sharpening his knives. He wants them sharp, because they're not just for decoration or for juggling; they're weapons as much as the other knives hidden on his body. And if he's found out, he will have to fight his way out of Telmar, which isn't something he's particularly interested in doing.

Three sets later, there's a fire-eater on the stage, and Ainala's leading a Telmarine soldier back towards Edmund with her body leaned towards him as if she has something in mind.

"Lieutenant Caspian," Edmund says in Telmarine, standing up.

For a moment, the young officer's face is blank, then recognition spreads across it. "Silvertongue," he says. "I had thought -- someone else --"

"No, you get me," Edmund says. "I wouldn't put an agent in this sort of situation, and if anyone happens to me, then Peter will invade and then Telmar will have even bigger problems than the ones they're courting now."

Caspian sets his jaw. "I love my country," he says stubbornly.

"And I love mine, which is why I'm here," Edmund says. "Patriotism is a great motivator. If your country attacks mine head-on, your country will be destroyed, but mine will take huge casualties. Let's try and avoid that together."

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

*giggles*

Why, thank you!

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

chewing on the end of his quill. They're still working on inventing or importing ink pens.
<3333333

knife juggling omfg. hi my name is edmund and everything i do is sexy.

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

Peter, Edmund, duty over preference.

Susan, crowd, increasing isolation.

Lucy, Aslan, adoration, disturbance.



Dunno if you can work with those, but there ya go. *drops 'em on you*

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Oh, I see what you're doing there with number one.

[westingturtle.livejournal.com]

How about some of Edmund's romantic (mis)adventures? Everyone else seems to be having more fun than he does.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Malena is a small, pretty woman who walks up to the gates of Arn Abedin at the head of a group of Telmarine refugees and asks the guards for whoever's in charge. Edmund and Lucy are there out of sheer chance, and so Lucy ends up taking charge of the refugees while Edmund talks to Malena.

"My people are not well-liked by the king," she says in broken Narnian.

Edmund's Telmarine isn't more than passable and Malena's Narnian isn't any better, so Edmund isn't sure exactly what she's saying, but he's more or less certain that they're seeking sanctuary in Narnia.

"You have to make a formal request to my brother the High King," Edmund says carefully in Narnian, then repeats it in Telmarine. "But I don't think he'll refuse your request."

Malena beams at him. Edmund is already composing the message to Peter in his head. Unfortunately, Peter is in the High Reaches, so it could take a while for him to find out, and then he has to reply.

They end up putting the Telmarines up in Arn Abedin until word comes from Peter. Malena divides her time between her people and Edmund. He wants to know everything he can about the political situation in Telmar, because if refugees are coming over into Narnia, it means there's something very wrong going on in the country. She wants to learn Narnian.

"So Obregon's not the one persecuting your people?" Edmund asks late one night, chewing on the end of his quill. They're still working on inventing or importing ink pens.

"No, it is his brother Prince Marroquin who wants my people dead," Malena says. "We believe in the goodness of the Lion; the prince favors the thousand little gods above all others."

Obregon is the king of Telmar and is inclined to treat Narnia as an ally and trade-partner. Marroquin is his ambitious younger brother who also happens to be a religious maniac. "We have religious freedom in Narnia," Edmund says, not for the first time.

"That is why we are here," Malena says firmly. "Your majesty, will we be given sanctuary as we have requested?"

"Probably," Edmund says, putting his quill down to massage the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"If there is anything I can do --"

"It's just that Peter's on the other side of the country," Edmund says, "and I can't speak for him, so --" He stops abruptly. "That's not going to help," he says faintly as Malena pulls her dress off over her head.

"You've been so kind to us," she says throatily, moving around the side of his desk.

"You're welcome?" Edmund says, the words coming out in a squeak.

Malena sits down in his lap and puts her arms around his neck. "I just want to thank you," she says.

Peter never has to deal with this, Edmund thinks frantically, then Malena starts kissing him and he stops thinking.

[vivien]

Susan and a suitor. Or two. Or three.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

"I hate men," Susan says through her teeth as Edmund comes over to rescue her from the Natarene ambassador. Natare doesn't need her; they already have Peter, so there's no reasonable explanation for Fanjaus to be courting her except to get under her skirts, where Susan certainly doesn't want him.

"I know the feeling," Edmund agrees as they settle into the sedate moves of the danse belle.

"You can't possibly," Susan says briskly, her skirts flaring out around her as they spin.

"No," Edmund deadpans. "I know the feeling. The Edanese ambassador's aide has been chasing me all night. I don't even like men like that."

"And before that it was the Vicomte Caeiro from Marinel," Susan says. "Marinel's on the other side of the continent. We don't need an alliance with them. They already trade here; what else do they want?"

"I've had the Duke of Goldtree at my heels all night, begging me to convince Peter to help him take Ransky back," Edmund counters. "Ransky's been gone for four years now; it's not coming back any time soon. And Narnia's certainly not going to try setting off Natare and Belgarion off by trying to take their land back for Ransky. There's nothing there we need."

"You probably haven't seen Lord Meurik much tonight," Susan says. "That would be because he's nursing four broken fingers and a broken wrist."

Edmund stares at her. "I'll kill him for you, if you like," he says. "Which will be a relief for him if Peter ever hears about whatever he tried. What did he try?"

"He was of the opinion that being human in Narnia gave him the right to put his hands up my skirts. I disabused him of that notion," Susan says sedately. "And don't tell Peter; we need his men too badly. Maybe you can kill him after he has an heir."

"I was going to tell you how the Terebinthian governor's wife tried to lock us in the library, but I don't think that has anything on you actually breaking bones," Edmund says, spinning her beneath his arm.

"How did you get out of that one?" Susan asks.

"Begged Cair Paravel to open the door or come up with any emergency at all," Edmund says. "And was extremely glad Peter isn't here to distract her."

He and Susan pull away from each other and bow as the dance draws to a close. "Oh, here we go again," Susan says to him as she sees Prince Martel of Belgarion, an ambassador's aide from Alvarado, and the Calormene ambassador approach from three different directions.

"And this is my cue to leave," Edmund says, succeeding in distracting the little Alvaradan before he can reach her. It leaves her with Prince Martel and Ambassador Hazhir, so she plasters her sweetest smile on her face and detours toward Martel.

[saturns-hikari.livejournal.com]

Susan as the Swan Princess! Somewhere you have "Susan is turned into a swan" and I *need* to read that.

Edmund and Turkish Delight! Is he scarred for life- did it become a strange kink- still his favorite candy?

Peter and school boys

prompt prompts:

Olympics (I know, but I'm watching it too)
Flour
Defenestration
Greed

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

We were able to see and to hear, but we could neither speak nor move nor communicate with each other in any sort of way. As the day wore on, I despaired of ever again living as a man rather than as a man-shaped statue.

At long last, night fell. As the rays of moonlight fell over the pond, I saw the black swan spread her wings. A sheen of silvery light seemed to rise up around her, and when it fell away, there was no swan but a woman, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Her hair, dark as her wings had been, fell nearly to her waist, and she wore a gown of green silk embroidered in silver. A crown wrought of golden flowers graced her brow. As she turned towards me, I was shocked to realize that I knew her.

She was no mere princess of some far-off land as the stories had said. This was Queen Susan of Narnia, the woman called Heartsbane in the eastern countries. And as I gazed upon her face, I knew that if the wizard who had done these dark deeds had managed to steal into the heart of Narnia and capture Heartsbane herself, then no mere prince such as I would be able to rescue her and break the curse. This quest had been doomed from the very beginning, and doubtless my uncle Marroquin had known this.

Excerpt from "An Account of the Many Wonders of the East", a travelogue written by Prince Beturian of Telmar after his return from his ten year exile.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

He's never liked boys.

Peter lost his virginity at fifteen to an apple-dryad in the woods around Cair Paravel; the first time he slept with a man, he was sixteen and Osumare Seaworth was nearly thirty. It's not that there haven't been oppotunities for him to sleep with boys his own age or younger, but that there haven't been many opportunities. After all, there weren't a lot of humans in Narnia until he was almost twenty, and by then he'd had girls and boys throwing themselves at his feet and he'd been too embarrassed to take any of them -- not that he would have anyway. There had been men he slept with -- sailors and soldiers, mostly, men who didn't want anything from him but the warmth of his body -- and there had been his fiancees, all of whom had been girls and not women. But not boys.

His classmates are boys, all of them, and Peter keeps his head down and doesn't look except out of the corners of his eyes. Even the athletes seem weak and spindly, pale caricatures of the men he knew in Narnia -- even those as young as he is now. Peter pushes himself and keeps pushing, because he knows what he can do and how far he can go before he breaks. He doesn't want to be one of those boys, and he knows now that he was once. Not again; never again. Even if he never gets back to Narnia -- and the thought kills him, but he has to be aware of the possibility, no matter how distant it is -- he won't let himself fall. He can't. So he pushes himself as he gets closer and closer to what he was once, to what he's capable of, because he knows that if he lets up he may never go back to who he was -- who he is.

The truth is there's nothing for Peter to look at, so he doesn't look. That's easy enough. He buries himself in his workouts and his studies, hangs on to Narnia with everything he can, and doesn't look at boys or girls. There's nothing to look at.

sanity is overrated!

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

Peter and Lucy, this negotiation is not going well at all

Re: sanity is overrated!

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Peter knows his limits well enough to know that this particular combination of troops is the last one he wants for this particular situation. For one, neither Susan nor Edmund is here. For another, what he has is a group of hardened killers. What he needs is at least one person with the ability to negotiate their way out of a paper bag, which is a skill none of them have.

They weren't even supposed to be in a situation where they would be negotiating, which was why he'd left Cair Paravel without any negotiators. If he'd known that, he would have brought Edmund instead of Lucy.

"This is going badly," Lucy hisses in his ear after the second time the clan chieftain retires to his tent in order to discuss the matter with his advisers.

"Really, Lu?" Peter says irritably. "Do you think so?"

"If we'd known that they were so scared of you they'd rather talk than fight --"

"There's no way I could have known that," Peter points out. "I didn't think I had that bad a reputation."

"They just didn't think High King Peter himself would be bothered to come all the way out here," Lucy says spitefully, then sits back as the chieftain comes out of his tent. "Let's see if he offers you his wife, his sister, his daughter, or his mother this time."

"That is not what he's been saying --"

"How would you know? You don't speak the language!"

"Neither do you."

[franceica.livejournal.com]

Peta counts.

Oh great!

Hmm, how about Peta's reaction towards Peter's siblings when Peter introduce her to his family?

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

It's Edmund who opens the door, and he shouts, "Pete!" and throws his arms around Peter's neck.

"Whoa!" Peter exclaims, hugging him back. It takes a moment for him to speak in English; as long as he's been with Peta, it's been Narnan at the forefront of his mind and English as an afterthought. "God, it's good to see you."

Edmund lets go of him and punches him in the shoulder. "What the hell was that letter? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Haven't you done that enough already?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns around and bellows, "Su, Lu, it's Peter! Mum, Dad, Peter's back!"

Lucy scrambles into the hallway and past Edmund, leaping into Peter's arms. Susan follows a little more sedately, face lit up, with their parents behind her. He hugs Susan over Lucy's head and kisses her cheek. "What happened to your face?" she asks, reaching out to pull Edmund into a four-way hug.

Peter winces in memory. Peta has a hard right hook. Reminded of Peta, he untangles himself and reaches for Peta, slipping his hand into hers. Her face is closed-off and carefully blank, but she fixes a slight smile on it as Peter draws her forward.

Lucy stares at her curiously, Susan suspiciously before she switches her glare to Peter, and Edmund's brows narrow in stark confusion, lips moving silently.

"Mum, Dad, Su, Ed, Lu," Peter says, "this is my wife, Peta."

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

It's your fault I woke up thinking of Susan, Rabadash, fascination, toying, and dismissal. *scowls*

[burntcopper.livejournal.com]

Lucy post-battle.

Tumnus trying to deal with the Pevensies in the early years. And then in the later years.

what's left of the Telmarine council trying to stare down the Pevensies because they're *children* in the wake of Beruna before they go back) Also, what happens when you try to put Lucy in with the Telmarine nobility of her age.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

The world is an emptier place.

Lucy stands with her daggers in hand, panting like she's just run a marathon, just watching everything readjust itself and reset. Not far away, Peter stalks the battlefield with Rhindon in one hand and an Archenlander sword in the other, blood streaked liberally across his face and mail. He's lost his helm and his shield again. On her other side, Edmund is on one knee, wincing as he puts his own wrist back into joint.

With a jerk, she kneels down to clean her daggers on the surcoat of the man she's just killed, then sheathes them and looks around for the nearest Narnian wounded. She has her cordial under her mail, protected by its boiled leather case, and she digs it out after stripping her gloves off.

"Mercy," an Archenlander pikesman begs. He's gut-shot, his fingers wrapped around the arrows. "Mercy, sir, I beg you."

"I am no man," Lucy says as she passes him, her focus on the wounded centaur just behind him.

"Strongheart," the centaur murmurs as she lets a drop of cordial fall into his mouth.

"You've done your duty for Narnia," Lucy assures him, and moves on.

[swift-tales.livejournal.com]

Euhm....

The Pevensies dynamic (with lots of symbling snark) if Peter was a girl (Peta, in other words)

:D

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Peta looks dreamily pleased when she comes down to the main cavern -- she practically looks like she could be purring, Edmund notes grimly as she comes over to sit with them.

"Good night?" Susan asks archly, passing over a plate and a rough wooden mug filled with an almost painfully strong tea.

Peta tips her head back to drink half the tea in one gulp. The hickeys on her neck are unmistakable. "Very," she says, eating a piece of toast in small, neat bites.

"Please, no details," Edmund begs. "I think I heard more than I ever wanted to last night."

She grins at him. "Are you sure you don't want to know exactly what he's like in bed?"

"There wasn't a bed involved," Edmund points out as Lucy leans forward and says earnestly, "Yes. Yes, we do. Tell us everything."

"No, we don't," Edmund says earnestly.

"He looks like he has big hands," Susan says with deceptive mildness. "Did he put them on your --"

"I'm going to go talk to Glenstorm," Edmund announces, starting to get up, and Peta puts her hand on his sleeve and pulls him back down.

"How bad was the cave-in?" she asks, immediately all-business. "Were there any casualties?"

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

Rilian/Narnia, Serpent Witch, longing, impotence, cruelty.


Tumnus, voyeurism.


Peter, the ocean, and the way it feels to leave Narnia on board ship for the Islands, and have the land-bond fade in and out. (Well, *you* sum it up in a few words prompt! *laughs*)

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

He's going to be sick. He's been sick, and he's going to be sick again. He knew this was going to happen, and he got on the Winter's End anyway.

Lion's mane, his head. The pounding panic in the back of his head fades in and out, coinciding with his seasickness. He didn't know this was going to happen, and Narnia's nearly in hysterics. He's nearly in hysterics, and he doesn't know whether it's him panicking or Narnia or both.

For a heartbeat, his head is clear, shockingly empty the way it hasn't been in five years, and he can think again. Then the panic hits again and Peter dry-heaves over the rails of the Winter's End, Narnia's hysteria pounding at the inside of his skull.

"Stop," he whispers. "God, stop."

Narnia consents for a moment, or the ship passes out of range, and Peter throws up again out of sheer seasickness -- nothing at all to do with the waves of Narnia's concern, the ones screaming don't leave don't leave don't leave me. Then she's back in his head -- weaker now, thankfully, but no less present.

"Please," he pleads, and can only pray that he doesn't have to fight his way off the ship.


(First time he leaves Narnia since the wedding, I think.)