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‟It’s not as though there is anything else to be *done* about it.” Edmund pointed out, the words like leaning on a bruise. ‟Not. . .” He took a slow, careful breath. ‟Not now.”
Not after they had been called back - so, so briefly, because they were *needed*, and he couldn’t resent that for he would give every drop of blood and every breath in his body for Narnia were it needed, as would each of his siblings - and then again . . . While Peter and Susan were barred from returning.
And now it was their turn. Whatever Narnia needed, it would never be *them* again.
‟Not to find our way back, no.” Lucy said, achingly raw. Edmund reached for her. The knowledge *hurt*, but he hadn’t meant to . . . rake both their hearts over those coals again. ‟But we don’t have to simply *marinate in misery*, either. Close your eyes.” she instructed.
‟Lu-” Edmund broke off as his sister’s fingers brushed over his lips, and she settled into his lap.
His hands moved reflexively to her thighs, sliding upwards, and it felt *wrong* - she was too light and too small in his lap, though she had never been a *tall* woman.
‟Close your eyes.” Lucy repeated with a smile, and Edmund drew a deep breath, but complied this time. She leaned closer, and he clasped her too-narrow hips to steady her. ‟Remember.” she murmured in his ear, a puff of breath.
Edmund swallowed, throat tight. ‟I do.” he said, but shook his head. ‟I do, Lucy, I could never *forget*, but that’s not- It’s not the same and the memories can’t-”
‟Well of course it’s not the *same*.” Lucy said, almost a snap, and Edmund stiffened - but Lucy hissed, and he kept his eyes closed. ‟But Narnia is *home*, as much - more - than England; *ours*. Think you her magic is entirely absent, even from this world?”
Edmund frowned, brows drawing together.
Lucy’s hands settled on his shoulders, resting lightly at the base of his neck. ‟Listen. *Breathe*. We are here, among fragmented reflections of home. Feel the earth beneath us, the rustle on the breeze. . . It lacks song, the magic is quieter here, but it is not *gone*.”
Edmund listened to the quiet creek burbling nearby, feeling the breeze caress his face, the tickle of spring leaves at his ankle. It was . . . very different, and harder here - where dryads and naiads never beckoned flirtatiously - but. . .
‟I can feel it.” Edmund admitted, tipping his head back and cupping her jaw, smiling; by the Lion, he loved her so, his fierce-hearted sister who would fight to the last in battle, and just as fiercely to guard and heal those she claimed as her own. ‟And there’s more than that.” he added, and Lucy cocked her head.
Edmund tugged gently, and she smiled, bright and knowing, as she bent closer, winding her arms around his shoulders and sinking into a warm kiss, still familiar for all the changes in them.
*There’s you, as well, my dear sister.*