bedlamsbard | *gnaws lip* (Reply)

I am in a Mood. A mood in which I feel like posting something, only I have nothing to post, just random pieces of incomplete fic. Some of which I don't even know what the hell they are, like the Peter/Edmund fucking/fighting, which is about five paragraphs of this:

Edmund uses the grip on his hair to drag him sideways, slamming Peter's head into the wall as he leaves bruises across Peter's ribs with his other hand, and Peter hooks a foot behind his angle and knocks him off balance, chopping the side of his hand down in the space between neck and collarbone to send him down. Edmund keeps his grip on his brother, pulls Peter down on top of him and kisses him again. "Been there," he bites off against his brother's mouth, "done that."

Or the (first) time Peter got shot down in Burma, which is, like, nothing:

"Torrington?" he whispers, but there's no answer. He remembers the sharp sound of his navigator's scream being cut off as half his plane shredded into shards of burning metal. On the bright side, most of them have missed him; Peter reaches up and pulls a piece of shrapnel out from the edge of his right eye, dropping it and clamping the heel of his hand against his face as the blood begins to flow freely. There's no sign of Torrington's body, and his plane is -- well, to be fair, looking at his plane, he's surprised he survived. He's been here before, though; he's good at surviving. He's good at being the only survivor.

Or there's the possessed-by-the-White-Witch!Peter, which is, at some point in time, going to be complete, no, really:

The bolt takes Peter in the shoulder. It's not fatal, not meant to be fatal; Edmund won't hesitate at shooting his brother but he will draw a line at a killing him, and at least he knows for a fact that Peter would do the same for him. Peter -- not Peter; Edmund knows his brother and this isn't him -- screams in shock and rage, then reaches over and yanks the bolt free as Edmund drops the crossbow and scrambles for the knife in his boot.

And then there are "Till Human Voices Wake Us" and "Old Timber to New Fires." Do not even get me started on those two, oh my God. DEATH DEATH DEATH. Human Voices was actually begun before "Once More for the Ages", and Old Timber was begun right after "In Constellated Wars" was finished.

Although while I'm dropping fic wildly, here are bits:

“We’re being herded,” Peter says breathlessly, dropping down onto the floor and slumping against Songtail’s back. Louhanna drops her chin in his lap, shivering with tension. Peter strokes bare fingers across her stomach, feeling fur caked thickly with blood – hers, Bebhin’s, their enemies’.

The tunnel the owls had recommended turned out to be an ambush, Swiftwing and Brightfeather taking to the air ahead of the army and screaming warnings before their shouts abruptly stopped, the same instant all the torches went out again. The gibbering horde had come from the front, out of pitch-dark, and from the sides, from behind, forcing them into the tunnel Swiftwing had just had time to tell Peter led deeper into the mountain. They can’t even run anymore – too tired, and it’s a grueling march that Peter himself is barely holding to, even though he’s the one who ordered it.

Another third of his army is dead, Bebhin among them – the tiger had fallen on Peter with his guts spilling out across the stone, and Peter had taken vengeance with the blade of his sword when the creature came at him over Bebhin’s corpse, but vengeance won’t bring back the dead.

...

There’s a little cavalcade coming up the wide path between the tents, led by the banner carriers and a figure in mail and scarlet surcoat. King Edmund. Caspian blinks at the banners, because the one just beneath the lion of Narnia is unfamiliar – what looks like a broken stick over a lidless eye, both in silver on scarlet.

They reign up to a stop in front of the tent, and Edmund dismounts, taking his helmet off and tucking it beneath his arm as he drops to one knee in front of Peter.

Peter inclines his head slightly, and Edmund rises. “Your majesty,” he says, gesturing behind him, “for Narnian blood shed on Narnian soil and the song of swords in sunlight, I bring you Belden Alazais, prince of Belgarion.”

He steps aside to let a pair of satyrs come forward, a slight red-haired man in mail held between them. They throw him down on the ground in front of Peter and melt back into the crowd.

“Belden Alazais,” Peter says softly and grimly, moving forward. “You have made me a very great deal of trouble.”

There’s quiet threat in his voice, and Caspian shivers. He’s afraid of Peter – there’s no use lying to himself about it. He’s seen the High King kill men in cold blood, and he didn’t look at them so very differently than he’s looking at Belden of Belgarion now.

“Bittersteel,” Belden says, his voice quivering slightly. He’s older than Peter by about five years, Caspian sees. He can also see that Belden is terrified of Peter.

Belden draws himself up, staying on his knees, and looks Peter in the eye. His hands are shaking slightly. “You,” he says, “you invaded Belgarine land –”

Peter laughs. It’s a soft, certain sound and Caspian stiffens again. “I, invade Belgarine land?” he says. “No, Prince Belden. Unlike you, it would seem, I know Narnia’s borders. Perhaps you would do well to learn Belgarion’s as well.”

“This land is rightfully Belgarion’s –”

The crowd of watching Narnians makes a low, angry sound like a growl and Belden lapses silent, looking around him with fear flickering across his face.

“This is Narnian land,” Peter says. “This is my land, and you drew steel here, spilled blood here. If I had done the same in Belgarion, what punishment would your father Easal Alazais inflict?”

“None,” someone mutters. “Because that wouldn’t be Belgarine land anymore.”