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Chapter Text

Spending months underground wasn’t good for anyone. Stress and anxiety rose and fell in waves, those who could began to vie for the scouting missions, walking around the perimeter to find any trace of King Miraz’s army on their way forward.

For those who did finally get out, those who loved them would wait anxiously behind, stood by the doors and wringing hands until their friends, family, and lovers returned. The lovers seemed the most desperate. Desperate to cling to one another. And with such a small army there were rumors abound. Living things grew attached to each other. Lovers came to each other, the least likely of couples finding themselves any space to call their own. 

And truly, the Prince Caspian was no different. He was a young man, guilt and anger spiking, realizing how much of his kingdom he’d locked away in the dark dungeon tunnels. Their last hope, their last pray to take a stand against his uncle.

Lying on his back, staring up at the cracked stone above him he followed the now familiar pattern. He knew the ceiling above his makeshift bed with as much familiarity as he had learned the stars in his youth.

There was only so much to see. 

“Caspian?”

And there was one face he knew even better than the craggy stone and dips lit by flickering candle. 

Sitting up, his drawn face broke into an adoring smile. Really, it wasn’t fair of him to have his own space, not when it was so limited in their underground home. But he’d stopped complaining when he found another to share it with him. 

“Edmund.” 

Sliding off his bed, he made room for the pair of them, bringing him to the sinking mattress of leaves and ripped cloth. 

Sinking into the waiting arms, Edmund kissed without hesitation and without qualm. He’d yet to be in Narnia a year and knew deep within the inevitability of his affections. But the temptation was too strong to ignore.
Legs wound, fingers tangled, foreheads pressed, they waited in the soft silence, the only sounds their own soft breaths and the sputtering candles. 

“What brings you to me, this fine evening?” Caspian’s cold fingers slid through dark hair, pressed against his neck. 

Goosebumps raced down his arms and Edmund nudged his thigh, unable to swallow his smile. “Must I summon an excuse, my prince?”

“Never, my king,” Caspian pulled him in for another long kiss. 

If given the chance both knew they would hide in that moment for the rest of time, content to stay wrapped in the others arms, to find comfort there. 

Edmund’s muted groan cut the illusion. 

Pulling back, Caspian searched his face frantically. “You are injured. What has happened?”

Head shaking, Edmund’s arm curled around his mid section. “No. No. I’m not injured. I’ve done nothing. Perhaps eaten something foul.”

Unconvinced, lying back down once more, Caspian’s warm palm brushed over his stomach. The time under the earth had been good for none but perhaps the dwarves. Color had leached from faces, finding the sunlight as often as was practical. Edmund had faired worst of many. Ill for weeks upon end, his weight shifting with his ill, losing the life in cheek and arms, a swelling under his navel. His sister, Susan, had kept as close an eye on him as she could manage. But Edmund shook off all concern.

Or he tried. 

“How long have you felt unwell?” Caspian brushed a hand across his cheek.

Pressing into the gentle touch Edmund shrugged a single shoulder. “I woke early this evening after retiring. There is nothing to be concerned for. A stomach ache and nothing more.”

Caspian wasn’t one to let his concern be waved off. Lying back down and pulling in tightly he began to slowly rub the swollen space below his navel. 

Head dropped forward, Edmund pressed his face into the crook of his neck. “K-Keep going,” he begged, his voice hardly audible. 

Pleased to be able to bring some slight relief, Caspian moved in slow circles, side to side, stopping at each hip, and up until he met his ribcage. Pausing only a moment, he laid hi palm flat, his face twisted into one of sympathy. “I can feel the movement. I do hope no one wishes you ill will. To give you poor food on purpose would be a punishable offense.”

Edmund shook his head again, wrapping his arms tightly around Caspian’s neck to draw him in. “Do not search for one to blame. My constitution is weak here. The days and night spent in the dark have done little for me. Even if I were to be fed the finest feasts my ill health would find a way to expel it.”

Caspian pursed his lips. “I find that hard to believe. You are a great king. You have told me of wars in this world and yours, ones you have pushed through and won. You cannot tell me of a weak constitution when I have seen what greatness you can do.”

Had he the strength to do so, perhaps Edmund would have blushed. “The battles I have fought were a great many years ago. I feel I have lived several lives since. And it has been a great many generations in this land since my tales have been told.”

Hand on his stomach, still pressing firm circles Caspian hummed low, pressing lips to his neck, to his jaw. “You insist on selling yourself short, refusing to give yourself the credit you are owed.”

“And yet, I lie here with a poor stomach.” Edmund teased, though his words lacked bite, thoughts belonging to the soft press of Caspian’s mouth on skin. 

“You lie here in my arms, my king,” Caspian spoke slowly. He would never push Edmund further than his health would allow. But his invitation was not as subtle as he would have liked. Intertwined as they were Edmund could feel the strain in his breeches, rutting into his thigh without his knowledge. 

“I do,” Edmund agreed, hand sliding down Caspian’s side and finding the string of his clothing, undoing him in deft movements. “While there is little I can offer you in physical enthusiasm, I give you in adoration.”

Caspian’s lips found his, lifting Edmund’s chin into a long kiss tongue sliding across the bottom row of teeth, intent on tasting the words on the tip of his tongue. “I will be gentle, my king. Find rest. Your pleasure is mine.”

Head back, arms either side of hair grown to long, pale moon face lit golden, Edmund watched him with a smile given to so few. His childhood had little but familial love, and the world Narnia had once been had afforded him no one to espouse. Something Edmund would lament in times past was something he found himself grateful for. Spilling over with Caspian, his first time in his arms was a gift he would have waited many more years yet. 

Splayed across rough sheets, shed of his threadbare nightclothes, Edmund was nothing less than  a master piece to Caspian, and he made no effort to hide it. Lips finding every crook of his skin, from his ears to his ankles, he worshiped the man before him, that adoration slipping from his lips at every moment the breathless moans waned. 

Edmund did little, his energy too poor to do much. But he did try. And when Caspian’s hands eased, when he pressed in, the moan drawn from him was something ethereal. 

The room warmed by more than candle light, Caspian curled up beside him, bare chest against bare back, skin heated by the gentle passions. There had been nights like it before of course, stolen moments trying to salvage whatever hope they could glean from the darkness. There had been ones of more passion, young men in better health, poorer spirits, seeking desperately for comfort, for distraction, hearts screaming out into the void of hopelessness and finding a harmony to their misery. 

Neither knew when sleep found them once more. 

And once more, Edmund broke through the peace, the sound of pain pulled from his depths. Curling over onto his side he panted into the sheets, brows drawn tightly, sweat pooling at his forehead. 

“Edmund?” Caspian pressed fingers into his eyes, forcing himself to a consciousness. “Edmund!”

“My-” he could not say more, voice robbed by a new wave of agony. 

Caspian fell silent. In search of the source, of any visible wound, one he had not seen during his ministrations, his heart dropped from his chest. 

Between Edmund’s thighs was a growing pool. Fluid of no scent nor color, joined by swirling patterns of pale scarlet. Each shaking lurch of contracted muscles spilled a further mess around him. Blood slid down thighs and around his ankles, painting pale skin slick and violent. 

Lifted glazed eyes Edmund tried to find the face of his lover, to search for comfort. 

The horror there was no comfort. 

“Caspian?” he called weakly, unsure of his volume. A gong had gone off in his skull, ears ringing with reverberations of growing panic. “Caspian. Seek aid. My sister. A healer. Something-” once more he was robbed of speech. He made no effort to muffle his agony, the sound ripped from him. 

Caspian hardly had the awareness of mind to collect breeches and night shirt before he was down the hall, a spirit of terror, white in dim lighting, searching desperately. 

It was not quite morning, and even those sat guard looked as though they felt the weight of the rock above. 

Wild eyed and not at all the picture of grace he was meant, Caspian nearly collided with the first. “Where are the queens?” he asked, eyes set wide, pupils turned pinpricks. Goosebumps risen and color drained he looked nothing short of a man gone mad. 

Confused, the second took to his feet. “In their chambers. Resting. Must we wake them, your highness?”

“Yes,” Caspian had no time for explanations, to satisfy curiosity or the worry on their faces. 

Privacy was not something well found in the sprawling underground, but the young queens had found some in a room not far from the main living quarters. Separated only by a curtain Caspian burst through, despite the hour, despite those awake whose judgment followed him. 

Lucy woke first, in her own nightgown, brows drawn. Sitting slowly she wiped sleep from her gaze. “Caspian? Has something happened?”

Robbed of air, Caspian leaned in the doorway, still a picture of a man in mortal terror. “Edmund.”

Chapter Text

It took little else. Susan was on her feet before sleep had drained from her. “Where is he? Lucy, fetch the healers.”

Lucy needed no other promptings and flew down the dim hall, candle in hand. 

“Take me to him,” Susan was not one to overreact, shoulders drawn back, jaw set in a firm line. Years of heading armies, of leading a kingdom, she knew emergency, she knew forethought and composure. Despite what pain gripped her heart she pressed forward, matching Caspian’s speed to his quarters once more. 

And yet, her well honed decorum was pressed to its outer limits upon seeing her younger brother. At his side in seconds, Susan pressed a warm palm to pale cheek. “Edmund?”

If curled and trembled he had cried out, laid flat on his back, a mirror of pleasure only hours before, painted his every line in an unspeakable agony. Color had gone, leaving him white as a sheet of snow, trembling without gooseflesh, face contorted. 

Caspian’s fear had forgotten him their secrets, taking the hand clawed in blanket and gripping it in both of his. “Lucy has gone for a healer,” he brushed hair from sweat dampened cheek, pressing lips to trembling fingers. “Please. Speak to us.”

Glazed eyes shone beyond heavy lids, Edmund summoning what little of himself he could to see the pair before him. “My stomach,” his words were hardly more than sobs. 

Susan's hands were one well familiar with injury, robbed of the years that had learned the line of flesh and muscle, the veins and bones still knew their feel and pull. Lips pulled to a tight line she traveled the taut flesh Caspian’s lips had, though she wasn’t to know what came before her touch. “How long have you been feeling this pain?” she asked as plainly as she could manage. Her words were calm, her voice controlled. But a brother knew his sister’s fear. And he could only shrink underneath the weight of it. 

“Before I retired,” Edmund began slowly, doing his utmost to match her tone. “There were slight pains. I assumed I’d eaten poorly. I woke with greater pains.”

“Where?” Susan’s tone was firm, kind, fearful. 

Edmund’s moonlight pale fingers traveled along stomach and hip. “Here. the longer they progressed the stronger they became. Down into spine and hip, feeling to pull taut around bone. The muscle would not release.”

Color slipped away, drop by drop, watching the pool between his thighs. “Edmund. Would you consent to Caspian doing an examination?”

Neither were able to hide the color, rising high in cheeks and coloring once deathly pale faces. 

“I am neither a fool nor a child,” Susan said gently. “Do you consent?”

“I do,” Edmund breathed. 

Beckoning him forward Susan made little fuss of spreading her brother’s thighs into a wide bracket, knees lifted, feet in the tangled blankets. 

Only then, fingers no longer wound in Edmunds did Caspian’s reservations come. “My queen, I do not-”

Susan placed a hand atop his. “I am neither a fool nor a child,” she repeated. But the tone was gentler, warm and comforting. “I would not have chosen you without consent or knowing Edmund’s comfort. Nor would I have done so if I thought you a fool. You know my brother’s body.”

More color. A rose pink blush came from under his collar, filling him, making im look less the painting of a man near collapse. “I do,” he agreed, words hardly a breath. 

“I will not mince my words,” Susan spoke, as much a warning as a comfort. “Underneath sac, there should be a stretch of skin, place two fingers along this space and search for the source of the bleeding.”

Color still rising, flushing him scarlet, Caspian did as he was told, the heat of shame warming fingertips, robbing him of the tremble in wrist and elbow. He knew Edmund’s body. He would not lie for knowing it, as learning it had been a gift to him, to learn what motions and touches would draw sounds from his king, his lover. Never had his touch inspired such agony. Hand on his bare thigh Caspian froze, listening to the animalistic cry drawn from him, ripped from his lungs with great violence. “My queen, please,” Caspian’s own words broke under the weight of fear. “Please. What will this accomplish beyond more pain?”

Susan stayed determined, jaw tight. “Caspian,” she said firmly. “Listen to my words and mine only. His cries will do you no harm and distraction by them will only delay us. I promise you, am I proven correct there will be an end to his pains. I need your word to me, Caspian.”

Fear had drawn Caspian in many ways. Fear of a throne, fear of family, fear or a fight. But never had fear for a loved one been so strong, had pulled at him so greatly. Each cry was one meant to grip his own soul, to tear at the very fabric of his being until he was left with nothing. He craved nothing more, had craved nothing more in his life than to cease his agonies. And so he nodded, feeling the welling of tears behind heavy lids, Caspain forced himself to a focus he’d only ever known in his little combat. Jaw set as stone he did as he was told. Fingers ceasing thier trembling he reached to the space between thigh, underneath manhood. He knew the expanse of soft skin there, leading to an entrance he knew perhaps better. But the stretch of smooth he had known and expected hed been torn, ragged and raw. His fingers wetted and pulled away scarlet. 

“There, there is an entrance,” Caspian had few words. Shame for the human form was familiar to him, despite familiarity and knowledge. To discuss with his queen, with the sister of one adored, was a new emotion, not quite shame, pulled in around him, gripping lungs and heart with a fist of iced iron. 

Susan for her own part seemed hardly moved. In a split second of shock swallowed behind an immovable mask, Susan nodded once. “Clean your hands. Comfort him.”

The order, if unexpected, was a welcome one, and one followed with quick vehemence. Fingers wiped Caspian took Edmunds hands. Needing to unwind grip turned claw like once more, tearing holes in old blanket, Caspian took his grip, not caring for the pain it brought, hardly noticing Edmund’s nails sunk into his flesh. 

The long moan tearing at Edmund’s throat was Caspian’s only concern. 

Knowing the ruse was far gone Caspian brushed dark locks from his cheek once more, cradling his chin. “Please, my king. I am here. I am returned to you.”

The effort to open lids so heavy was hardly one Edmund could manage. Pain ravaged him, ripping from hip to heart. Whatever terrible curse had been placed to him, he was sure it would not spare him a moment to draw breath. And yet he forced himself alert, to see the man holding to him with such ferocity. If he were to die, Caspian’s face would be what he wanted to see as his life was torn from him. The smile it seemed was too much to ask for, as the moment he managed it, pain as he had never known before seemed determined to rip him limb from limb. He was not sure if his voice had been rent in scream of sob. Muscles never known turned to stone around bone, sweat spilling despite gooseflesh. 

Another hand rested on him. 

Effort he did not have expelled so Edmund could see his sister. 

Susan smiled, though a small and tight motion, marked by a sorrow in her gaze. 

“Is this to be my last?” Edmund asked, his voice not his own, warped by the violence of his agonies. 

“No,” Susan took his other hand, holding it close. “Quite the opposite. You are to bring new life.”

Exhaustion had robbed him of all sense. Edmund ws sure he could not be hearing the words that had been spoken. “I do not understand.”

Knowing her brother had hardly the strength to hold his lids, let alone to converse and comprehend she turned her gaze upon Caspian, accusation in her gaze despite herself. “Edmund is with child. These pains are laboring pains. He is to have a babe.”

Caspian’s own disbelief robbed him of the color embarrassment had bestowed and he shook his head. “It, he cannot.”

“I have seen it before. Narnian men who have born children.”

Still shaking his head Caspian drew closer, his shock melding with the stewing well of emotions he had already endured. 

Lifting his head, searching Caspian’s unreadable face Edmund tried to find the words, any words to capture the moment. There was nothing. No poem, no novel, no library of words he knew to summon to speak his fear, shock and burgeoning hope. Nothing to could fill the stolen air in the tiny cavern. The world paired down to the pair of them, incapable of any speech or thought.

“A child.” Caspian spoke the word, not a question or accusation. 

“Our child,” Edmund’s answer was a promise as much as an answer. 

Caspian pressed his lips to their wound hand, unable to tell whose fingers were whose. 

Agony rising, Edmund sunk back into the poor bedding, breaths pulled from him in wheezing gasps. He’d known the lessons of healing, the learning done, lifetimes before, to prepare a wound for bandages, the soothing salves placed over muscles that would not calm to let in rest. But Susan had known the healing of childbirth, been there for ladies in waiting, in any and all species. In those times Edmund had no stomach for them. To watch another in pain was too much for him to bare. He had averted his gaze until Lucy had come with her tincture. To be under the thumb of such agony ripped his senses from him. 

The only comfort in the world were the hands on him. Caspian’s rough palms pressed against cheek and arm, drawing him in. 

Sounds he had never known spilled from his lips. Sweat beading, dripping down forehead and spine, he languished in a torture he had never dreamed possible. Spine arching he fell limp against the bed, turning into the strong chest beside him. 

“How much more am I to endure?” Edmund’s voice was little more than a rasp, screams and wails ripped through his throat. Despite his frame pressed against Caspian, face pulled into him, cheek on rough knuckles, Edmund trembled asif placed in the harshest of winter storms. 

“I,” Caspian’s voice broke. 

They shared yet another in common. To see the pain of loved ones was worse than to tolerate it for ones self. 

Chapter Text

Both turned to Susan. Still in night clothes, the sleeves pulled to elbows, a soft sheen of scarlet reached to her wrists. She had lost color, cheeks as pale as any sheet of snow. Hair pulled from her face there was little to hide the expression of fear beyond her own composure. Clinging to the latter as best as she was able Susan shook her head. “It is impossible to say. I can only hope Lucy-”

As if the word itself had summoned her the curtain was pulled back. 

In night clothes herself Lucy entered. None followed. Panting, air stolen from her lungs, she shook her head, rattled curls pulling from the neckline of her dressing gown. “I couldn’t find any healers or nurses. They’ve gone with the travel party. Another has been harmed. I brought,” she reached for the cordial on her belt, the only sign she had not simply tumbled from her bed and run there, as she was still bare footed. 

Susan tried in vain to block the sight with her body. One so young should not be faced with the sight of ones sibling in pain, let alone the pain Edmund suffered. 

It was too late. 

Stopped in her tracks Lucy’s hand covered her open mouth. With nothing to shield modesty, Edmund lay splayed under candle light. Blood spilled, a blossom of deep scarlet spilling over moon pale thighs and pooling underneath him. 

“Edmund.” Her voice hardly lifted from her tongue, hand over her chest. Grown from her first childhood Lucy was not unfamiliar with the horrors of battle, and blood. Made a healer by Aslan herself she had possibly seen more of it than any of her siblings. But never had she seen ones she loved so near to death. 

Pale face lifted, Edmund found himself facing his beloved sister, wishing, through haze of pain that there were anything to be done for her fears. He lifted trembling arm out to her, wanting to call her to his side, if only to remove her sight from that terrible mess. 

As if summoned to his side by magic, Lucy ran toward her brother hands outstretched. She needn’t have said anything, even as worry and comfort spilled from her lips. 

He heard nothing. 

Pain mounting, ripped into him, dropping Edmund’s head back upon his pillow. What little color remained had slipped away. His skin was white as snow, the strain of his laboring pooling sweat across brow and chest. Dark curls clinging, dampened down, Edmund had hardly the strength to open his eyes once more. Glazed and searching he found his youngest sister’s eye. 

Knelt at his bedside, trembling fingers clutching, mouth parted, his name on her next breath. 

"What ails him?" Lucy lifted her gaze, hair still tossed from sleep, the heavy collar of warm bedclothes held around the tight sorrow in her throat. Tears had begun to spill, unbidden. 

Edmund could do little but turn away from the words. Words filled with a sorrow beyond her seeming years. It was difficult at times to recall what his sisters had once been, what he himself had once been, grown to full maturity in the very lands which seemed so hostile to them now. Memories came to him in flickers, a candle in wind, marred ever more by pain, mounting again. He turned into Caspian's hold as the memory sparked. Lucy had been a midwife. Traned and readied. She had delivered Mr Tumnus's first daughter, with his wife since pains began.

"No ill becomes him," Susan promised, voice gentle, watching her youngest brother curl in upon himself. 

"Then what-"

"He is to bare a child," Susan's voice lifted. Below the fear, somewhere past blood and terror, there was an unnamed joy, one she could not give words to. A hope in dark tunnels, a light to far to source. 

Lucy's face lifted, tears renewed, given fuel by new emotion. "A child?"

The cry cut them all short. Edmund, lost in pains unnamable, lurched forward, chin digging into sweat reddened skin, muscles pulled tauter than a bow string. 

"Edmund," Susan's words trembled. 

Healer's heart, healer's mind, Lucy gathered her hair behind, tying off with a leather strap, countenance drawn into sharp angles. She knew herself, and no matter time passed she knew her craft. "Edmund. Is there a pressure?"

Hazed eyes lifting, searching for his sister through screaming agony he focused. "Pressure?" he echoed. 

Fear wrapped icy fingers around Lucy's heart. 

Keeping head and words on a steady rhythm she knelt beside his open thigh, a hand on petal soft skin, dancing around the blood though she knew it would not remain so. "There will be a great pressure, a deep pull. I have been told time and again it is felt most in the base of the spine and a place just below the navel."

Nodding slowly Edmund tried to make sense of the world spinning by him. He was losing coherence. 

Sat behind, Caspian clutched his hand still, his won knuckles gone green and pale in his tight hold. 

Susan shifted back, sat on her heels, in awe upon watching her sister .Of course, despite appearance, she held an authority undeniable. Susan was a warrior, she knew battle, to cleave the cancerous growths from healthy lands and healthy people. It was not she who cared for those in those soft moments. She knew words, but not the ones to repair broken wounds, only to bolster those with the torn pieces. 

Lucy, with her own soft caress, could sew those pieces intertwined once more. 

"Caspian."

Head lifted, his own haze of worry was not yet lifted. What little joy he could summon was drowned under the waves of Edmunds trial. 

Lucy's path did not waver. "Caspian. Move yourself underneath him his back at your chest. You are to hold him and little else, do you hear my words?"

"I hear them," Caspian lifted his lover, is king, each barest motion entirely gentle until Edmund's head cradled in the crook of cheek and shoulder, fingers woven through each others. Caspian's red bitten lips were close to his ear, comforts to be whispered, to be shouted if given the chance. 

Pain easing, for the barest second, Edmund's glassed eyes found his prince once more. The smile was not unbidden though perhaps unexpected. He knew this comfort, though had known no other time it had become more welcome. 

Lucy settled herself beside Susan. The sight, the blood, though tugging at her heart, did not dissuade determination. Her instructions were clear. With water at hand se began to wipe away the greater mess. 

To wait while others pained cries echoed across stone and nerve was enough to drive one mad. To have it be someone so beloved to you was quite another. 

And so it was, for perhaps moments or perhaps hours, the night stretching across time, until Edmund's crackling throat coughed the words Lucy had been so expectant. "A pressure."

A knot at her shoulders easing Lucy set aside the cloth she had held. The worst of the scarlet pool had been wiped clear. The flow of it did not increase, only the path for the child tearing itself new space. Once explained the words gave Caspian no peace. The body was not made to loose so much of itself in a short time. 

Once more Lucy sat forward. "Chin down, hold to Caspian, and bare down, follow the crest of the pains. Your body knows itself. It had grown and housed the infant and while bring them forth. You must only aid it."

Edmund listened to the words as once would hold to a raft in the great ocean. Using each letter to keep him afloat he followed as best he could. The pains before had robbed his strength. There was little else his sored thoughts could cling to. From a great distance, the call of dry land in his dark ocean, Caspian's own words came to him, comfort and encouragement, soft and loving. They were a warmth he was sure he would not live without. 

After the pressure had come Edmund had followed, using a strength he had no knowledge of, using a force under his ribcage he had never felt he dropped back against Caspain's panting chest, heaving his own frantic breaths. "I am burning," Edmund's voice was so weak as to almost become lost, even under the echoing stones. 

"Have no fear," Lucy's soft palm pressed firmly into his inner thigh, pushing her legs apart further, though they had no more give to do so. "There is no flame. Only the child."

Confusion robbing him of words along side the next building pain, Edmund's brows knit themselves. "I do not-"

"The head has begun to emerge," Lucy said softly, the smile a balm in flickering candlelight. "Do you not feel?"

Searching himself in ways he had not dared to, Edmund needed to proffered hand to know the shift in pressure, to know the child grown, the one known to no one, and not even himself, was to separate. The one become two. 

Caspian's soft gasp drew his gaze up. Beyond the terror of the evening, it seemed, Caspian had finally found the joy and, overwhelmed and lost below the swell of it, a tear began to slip down his cheek, into Edmund's hair.

Words caught under the lump gathering Edmund had no time for sentimentality as the now familiar agony pressed iron fingers into his muscles, tearing their way into bone and tissue, forcing his head down and his efforts to a finite point. He bore down once more and the sudden shift stole his hiccupped words. 

Head down, Lucy's smile was a warmth no fir could recreate. "Small pushes now," she near sang the order, her joy overtaking her. It would always, no matter the life brought forth, no matter how oft or how may years between. And as final strangled efforts brought their newest life into her arms, she could not help but to be overcome by it. 

Collapsing back into Caspian's arms, Edmund's entire frame shuddered with his breathing. He was hallowed out, drained of blood, of life, of color. And the moment he felt he could inhale not  a bit of it mattered. Lifting his head, hair damp with sweat and eyes searching, his gaze landed upon the tiny, mottled, wailing child. And he was sure it was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. 

"Your daughter has quite the lungs," Lucy said softly, laying the tiny creature in his arms gently. 

Edmund's arms trembled around his daughter, only to have a pair of steadier arms encircle him. "I have you," Caspian breathed whisper soft. "I have you both."

The complications, the concerns, it could all wait. Edmund wanted only his child and the one who had fathered her.