King Edmund - Tumblr Posts

guess what i'm NOT done talking about their relationship because LOOK AT THIS

i already talked about the fact that Edmund is standing up with the archers instead of at Peter's side, but i fully forgot to talk about this moment

This moment is when Jadis shows up, she pulls to the front of her army, and they're about to fight. Peter doesn't speak to Orius, he doesn't look to one of the more skilled fighters with him, he turns around to look up at Edmund.

Not only is this a really... TERRIBLE idea, seeing as he's pretty much turning his back to his enemy, but more importantly, this is the second time we've seen Peter looking to someone (who isn't Aslan) for reassurance/support.

what is the first time, you ask?

After the news of Aslan's death reaches the camp, and Peter finds himself now in charge of the army. He says he can't do it, he can't lead them, and in return, Edmund tells him "Aslan believed you could. And so do I."

Peter's not looking to see if Edmund's safe, he knows that he is, he knows that his little brother is tucked away and unable to be harmed (for now). He's looking to see if Edmund still believes in him, if he can somehow see what Edmund sees. Edmund, after experiencing so much and seeing the worst that Jadis has to offer, still believes in his big brother, he knows that Peter is going to be able to keep them safe, he knows that Peter can do this, and THAT'S when Peter steps up.

That's when he draws his sword, when he lets out his battle cry, when he steps into the role as High King.

The need to go to Narnia, find Caspian/Peter/Edmund and marry one of them.

Ugh hes just so—ugh 😍😍

I love him <3

Hi! I saw your requests were open and I was wondering if you could do a fic with Edmund Pevensie and very shy reader? Thanks!

Prima Donna ~ Edmund Pevensie

Ahhhh, thank you so much for requesting! Shy!reader is a new one for me, so I hope you like it (even though it took me forever to finish it)

Word count: 2.3k

“Whose fabulous idea was it to throw this dinner?” Edmund grumbled, wrestling with the buttons of the wretched jerkin Susan had told him to wear. “I’d like to throw them a dinner in the royal dungeons.”

“It was yours, if I recall correctly.” Peter stood beside him, the perfect picture of composure. “Shall I warn the dungeon master of your impending arrival?” 

“I merely suggested that relations with Calormen could be improved by allowing the opera tour to come through Narnia,” Edmund protested, still trying to get the buttons to cooperate. “Nowhere in there did I say anything about hosting a banquet in their honor, and certainly I didn’t say a thing about myself having to attend.”

Lucy laughed from her place on Edmund’s bed. “Ed, if you’re not going to go to the opera tomorrow, it’s all the more important that you attend the dinner.”

“Pete isn’t going tomorrow either,” Edmund said, with a perfect imitation of the pout his little sister used to sport when asked to do the dishes back home.

“And Pete’s going to dinner.” 

 Edmund frowned and did not deign to answer her, returning to the confounded jerkin. 

“You know, in Calormen, the opera season is the height of court,” Lucy said, sliding off the bed to stand beside Peter. “Everything of note happens at the opera, all marriages arranged, alliances formed, grievances aired, it all happens at the opera.” 

Edmund snorted. “The fact that the attendees don’t go to the opera to watch and listen to the opera itself should tell you something.”

“Oh, Edmund,” Lucy said with a sigh, shaking her head. “Have you no appreciation for the arts?”

“Now, now,” Peter stepped forward. “Ed is a great connoisseur of art.”

Lucy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

“Well, swordfighting is an art, is it not?” 

The two burst into giggles, and Edmund scowled. “Shut up.”

“Ready?” Susan asked, floating into the room in the flowing, graceful way of hers. “They’ve just arrived.” 

“Ready,” said both Peter and Lucy.

“If I have to be,” Edmund grumbled. 

“You’d better be,” Susan said. “Because the director will be seated beside Peter, and the prima donna will be beside Edmund.”

“What is a ‘prima donna’, and why do I have to put up with it?” Edmund demanded. 

“The prima donna is the main female singer in an opera,” Lucy said, clearly exasperated. “Honestly, Ed, do you never listen when I’m talking?”

Edmund opened his mouth, ready to defend himself when Susan cleared her throat. “We don’t have time for this. Now, smiles on.” Susan turned and walked out of the chamber, Peter and Lucy close on her heels.

“I’m not scared to meet the Calormens,” Edmund muttered to himself as he tried to multitask walking and trying to keep his jerkin from flapping like a flag in the wind. The small clasps slipped through his fingers, and he cursed. “I won a war and had to lead a country at the age of 10! Prideful divas don’t compare to the Witch.”

Edmund swallowed his pride and looked up, intending to ask one of his sisters to come to his aid when he saw he was alone in the corridor, save for a servant girl lingering at the end of the hall. Her plain, Narnian clothing and the jug of water she carried indicated her to be a servant, but the way she carried herself…

Heat bloomed in his cheeks. Had she overheard him?

He straightened his back. “Are the arrivals from Calormen waiting?” The woman’s eyes flicked up to Edmund’s crown with a little apprehension before she nodded. “Can you help me with this?” he asked. “I cannot get these blasted buttons to button.”

The woman didn’t say anything, but set her pitcher down on the nearest windowsill and came forward, dexterous fingers accomplishing what he couldn’t with ease and efficiency. 

“Thank you.” Edmund straightened his jerkin, still feeling morbidly embarrassed. She was unfairly pretty and clearly new to Cair Paravel. He didn’t know her, he would’ve remembered her, for sure.  “Er…what’s your name?”

The woman blinked, momentarily meeting Edmund’s eyes with a startled expression. “Y/N,” she said in a mellifluous tone. Her eyes kept darting around, never staying long on Edmund or anything else. Was she uncomfortable? Or was he keeping her from something important? 

If Susan were around, she would’ve ordered Edmund to dismiss the girl so she could carry out her duty, but he couldn’t squash the urge to talk to her more. “Have you ever been to Calormen, Y/N?” 

“Yes, your majesty.” Her quiet voice was so endearing that Edmund couldn’t keep himself from smiling. 

“What was it like there?”

She looked up, nervously pulling at her fingers. “Hot.” 

Edmund laughed, and the smallest of smiles flitted across her lips. “Thanks again for your help.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Um…as you were.” And before he could embarrass himself anymore, he took off. 

Hopefully the next time he ran into Y/N, he was composed and in possession of the wit he was so famous for. 

He passed the horrid purple curtains Susan insisted be hung over the windows of the banquet hall, trying to get himself back under control before he joined his siblings. 

“Ah, Edmund,” Susan said, grabbing Edmund’s arm and pulling him forward towards the group of dark-skinned people dressed in the odd fashion of Calormen. “This is Lalnon, the esteemed director of the show Lucy and I will see tomorrow evening.” Susan indicated the man in the front who wore a glittery coat and upturned shoes. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Edmund said, forcing a smile and extending a hand to the director. “My royal sisters cannot wait to see the show, they’ve been talking about it nonstop.”

“Thank you,” the director said in a heavy Calormen accent before pushing past Edmund’s hand and walking over to the table, clearly done with the conversation.

Edmund tried not to roll his eyes as he turned back to the others in the group. Why did the creative types have to be so sullen and withdrawn? If Edmund had to be here and be polite, the least the guests could do was acknowledge how very polite he was being. 

Another Calormen man stepped forward with a bow. “I’m Ishdu, I’m the conductor. I lead the orchestra and instruct the singers.”

The siblings all nodded with regal airs, offering smiles.

The conductor brought forward each member of the crowd, outlining their names and their role in the show. Instead of following the director’s lead and seating themselves at the table, they awkwardly stayed standing, bumping into each other to allow certain members to the front of the group for their moment of recognition. 

Edmund bit the inside of his cheek, wishing he could be anywhere other than here. Could he come up with some sort of excuse that the Calormens and his siblings would believe? 

Ishdu, who was still talking, gestured to the group with a grander flourish than he’d yet used. “I’m also delighted to introduce our prima donna.”

Edmund steeled himself, trying to prepare himself for some overweight, gaudy woman to come trotting through the crowd to receive her demanded praise. But when the crowd parted, there was no such woman.

Edmund’s mouth fell open as none other than Y/N, the woman who’d helped him with his buttons, came forward and swept into a deep curtsy. “Your majesties.”

“You’re the prima donna?” Edmund asked before he could help himself, earning a glare from Susan.

For a split second, a shy smile flashed on Y/N’s face, but it quickly left as she said: “Yes, your majesty.” 

How could she be from Calormen? Why was she wearing Narnian fashion when everyone else in her group wore fashion from their own country? And what had she been doing in the corridor with a water jug? And why had she helped him with his buttons instead of announcing herself?

Edmund tried to form words, but she was scrambling his brains, even though she was doing nothing but shifting, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.

Shooting an odd look at her brother, Lucy stepped forward to rescue the situation. “Y/N, we’re so glad you’re here, let me show you where you’ll be sitting.”

With a glance at Edmund, Y/N followed his sister further into the room, smiling to humor his sister’s conversation, leading the other performers towards the banquet table. 

Susan’s hand clamped down on Edmund’s arm, pulling him towards her and Peter. “What was that?” she hissed. “That was not being hospitable!”

Edmund buried his face in his hands, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “I mistook her for a servant.” He half-heartedly hoped they wouldn’t hear him, but his brother’s guffaw quickly dashed that sentiment.

“You did what?!” Susan almost shrieked.

“What was I supposed to think? She was in the corridor, wearing Narnian clothes and carrying a pitcher of water!”

“What did you say to her?”

“I asked her to help me with my buttons,” Edmund mumbled, causing Peter to laugh harder.

“What are you, twelve?” Susan snapped before massaging her temples. “You’d better do some damage control during dinner, before it’s irreparable!” With that, Susan walked in her floating way over to the banquet table to take her seat. 

Edmund sent his older brother a hopeless look. “How on earth can I fix this?”

Peter clapped a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “You’re the witty one, I’m sure you can come up with something.” Then Peter went to sit beside Lalnon, the director, leaving Edmund to trail behind him.

Y/N was already seated, with her hand neatly folded in her lap on top of her napkin. The glimpse of her delicate fingers served as a reminder of how easily and contentedly she’d helped him.

He felt hot as he finally took his seat beside her. “Y/N,” he immediately began, “allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for my mistake.”

“Unnecessary.” Y/N took a dainty sip from her wine goblet, but the way she avoided his gaze made him nervous.

“It is necessary. I swear, I never meant to offend you in any way.”

“No offense,” Y/N promised.

Edmund winced. “Not even when I called you a prideful diva?” 

She didn’t answer, leaving Edmund to wonder if she really was offended or just didn’t feel like talking. But the silence that stretched on made Edmund’s discomfort rise, and he refused to let it go on. “So…” he said, searching for something, anything to say, “I hear Calormen is hot.”

The tiniest of chuckles broke through Y/N’s lips, but she still didn’t say anything. 

“Why were you in that hallway?” he asked. 

“Lalnon insisted he be allowed to wash his feet before setting foot in the banquet hall, and the servants looked frazzled already.”

Edmund cast a glance in the director’s direction just in time to see him sniff the bite of food on his fork and then promptly set the fork down on the plate. “But you’re one of the guests of honor. Why would you risk missing an introduction with the kings and queens?” Edmund asked, finding it hard to believe that someone as beautiful as her would prefer to notice than to be noticed.

“As it turns out, I got to meet one of the kings anyways,” Y/N said with a sideways smile. “I even got to help him with his buttons.”

He gaped at her.  “Er…yes, well, I guess you did, didn’t you?” She turned back to her meal, but Edmund had lost all interest in eating. Instead, he propped his arm up on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “How long have you been performing?”

“I’ve been the prima donna for a year and a half, your majesty, but I’ve been a part of the opera company for as long as I can remember.”

“What does it mean to be a prima donna?” He remembered what Lucy’s answer was, but he wanted to hear it from Y/N.

Y/N lowered her fork. “Being a prima donna means the primary female roles fall to me.”

“That’s quite the privilege,” said Edmund, wondering what it must feel like to know that she would always have the opportunity for center stage. 

“And quite the responsibility, your majesty.”

Edmund furrowed his brows. “Why’s that?”

“If a show goes poorly, there’s only so many ways to split the blame.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t more blame fall on the writer rather than the prima donna?” 

“Well, sure, but when the writer and the prima donna are the same, it gets complicated.”

It took a moment for Edmund to understand what she was saying. “Wait, you write the operas too?”

Y/N nodded. 

“Did you write the opera you’re performing tomorrow night?”

Y/N nodded again.

Her shyness endeared her to him. All he wanted was for her to talk, to share more of herself with him, but she wasn’t. “What is it about?”

“Love,” Y/N said, and the spark in her eyes made Edmund go a bit speechless. “Most powerful thing ever.”

Edmund felt his heart bounce in his chest, as if it was reminding him of its presence. “L-love?” Edmund stammered.

She nodded, and her eyes went faraway. “The opera is a story of a young man and woman who do whatever they can to be together.” Her distant smile was dazzling. “Their parents don’t approve because the young woman is a priestess-in-training at the temple of Tash, and priestesses swear never to marry.” An adorable crinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “So the young man’s father sneaks a venomous snake into a bouquet of flowers and gives it to the young woman, pretending it’s from her lover. The snake bites her, and she dies, leaving the young man heartbroken…” 

Y/N trailed off, lowering her eyes to the napkin in her lap. “Sorry,” she said with a bashful chuckle, “I just told you the whole plot for act one when you probably have zero interest.”

Edmund stared at her, certain she’d just said more words than all her previous words combined. “No, don’t apologize.” He took a breath. “You love what you do.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Edmund nodded.

“Sorry,” Y/N said again, ducking her head.

“No, don’t apologize, it’s a good thing. In fact, I envy you.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying Edmund in a way that made him feel exposed. “Does the king of Narnia feel wasted in the life he’s in?”

Edmund blinked, unsure how to answer such a question. “He feels wasted at big parties where he’s expected to be charming,” Edmund mumbled. 

Y/N’s chuckle made Edmund smile. “Well, hopefully, you won’t feel that way at the opera tomorrow,” she said, picking up her fork once again. 

Lucy, sitting across from Y/N, looked up. “Oh, no, Ed’s not–” Lucy started to say, but Edmund kicked her under the table.

“I’m sure I won’t,” Edmund said with a smile.

Lucy looked confused. “But you said–” 

Edmund stomped square on her toes, and Lucy let out a little yelp. “I will be at the opera,” Edmund said slowly, hitting every syllable as he turned back to Y/N. 

He’d only been trying to make sure Lucy got the point, but Y/N’s face broke into the biggest smile he’d seen from her all evening. “Yeah? You’ll be there?”

Edmund smiled back. “Yeah, I will. With flowers.”

Spoilers for Race To The Spire

I'm getting really worried especially after that last scene with Cassandra controlling Quirin, Hector, and Adira. DOES THAT MEAN THAT SHE CAN CONTROL EDMUND?!!!!

If you do Narnia fics, can you do one about Edmund Pevensie with !enemy reader? Ty <3

A/N: I just want to say thank you so much for the request! You are my second one and I really hope you enjoy this. This is a oneshot fanfic but if you want me to do a series for this prompt, I will do it just for you!

{~Between Shadows and Steel~}

Summary: In the midst of a fierce battle, you confront your sworn enemy, Edmund Pevensie, determined to end the war between your people and Narnia. But as your swords clash, Edmund’s unexpected words and actions challenge everything you thought you knew about him—and yourself. With the chaos of war surrounding you, a moment of vulnerability leads to an undeniable connection, forcing you to question whether you’re truly enemies or something more.

Characters: Edmund Pevensie

Pairing: Edmund x GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1178

The battlefield stretched out before you like an endless ocean of chaos. Warriors clashed with brutal force, their weapons ringing in the air, the ground beneath them soaked in the blood of the fallen. The cries of the wounded mingled with the roar of battle, and somewhere in the distance, you could hear the chilling shriek of a centaur as it fell to a barrage of arrows.

You stood on the edge of the fray, your chest heaving, sword in hand, watching as the skirmish raged on. In the midst of the melee, a single figure caught your eye. He moved like the wind—swift, agile, and utterly determined.

Edmund Pevensie.

The Just King of Narnia. And your enemy.

To you, he represented everything you’d fought against for years. Narnia’s expansion had forced your people into a corner, and you had sworn to resist. To fight until there was nothing left. But as you watched him now, cutting through your soldiers with practiced precision, doubt flickered in the depths of your mind.

You hated him—or so you told yourself. Yet, every time you crossed paths with Edmund, it felt as though there was something more beneath the surface. Something that made your heart pound in ways you couldn’t explain.

You gripped your sword tightly, the leather of the hilt biting into your palm as you steeled yourself. Today, you would confront him. Today, you would end this, one way or another.

With a deep breath, you charged toward him, weaving through the chaos, your eyes fixed on his form. Your footsteps were light but swift, your sword slicing through any obstacle in your path. The moment you reached him, you swung your blade, aiming for his unguarded back.

But Edmund moved faster than you anticipated. As if sensing your presence, he spun around, his sword meeting yours with a resounding clang. Your eyes locked, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

“You again,” he muttered, his voice strained with exertion, but not without a hint of recognition.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you shot back, pushing against his blade with all your strength.

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with something that was neither fear nor anger, but something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m not. I just didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then you should’ve been ready for me.”

The two of you danced across the battlefield, swords clashing with each strike, the sound echoing in the din of war. He was a skilled fighter, and you found yourself struggling to keep up with his speed. But you refused to back down. You had trained for this moment—prepared yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

Yet, as you fought, there was something different about this battle. Each time your swords connected, there was a spark in the air—an electricity you couldn’t ignore. Every time you stepped closer to him, it felt like the world was closing in, leaving only the two of you in its wake.

“You don’t have to do this,” Edmund said suddenly, his voice low, as if he could speak to you alone amidst the chaos.

You growled, frustration building in your chest. “And you don’t have to keep pretending you care!”

He blocked your next strike with ease, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “What makes you think I’m pretending?”

That stopped you for a moment. Your sword hovered in the air as you stared at him, the words catching you off guard. His expression softened slightly, and you noticed that he wasn’t attacking as aggressively as he could have. In fact, it seemed as though he was holding back.

“You don’t know me,” you snapped, stepping back to regain your composure.

He sheathed his sword, making you pause. “I know enough.”

Before you could retort, a nearby explosion rocked the ground, sending dust and debris into the air. The shockwave threw you both backward, and you hit the ground with a grunt. For a moment, your vision blurred, the chaos around you fading to a dull roar.

When the dust settled, you found yourself staring up at the sky, dazed. But then, a shadow fell over you, and you blinked up to see Edmund standing above you, his hand outstretched.

“Let me help you,” he said, his voice steady despite the battle still raging around you.

You glared at him, but the strength in your arms had fled. Reluctantly, you took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. His grip was firm, and for a moment, neither of you moved, your hands lingering together a little too long.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, breathless. Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t just from the exertion of battle.

Edmund’s expression softened. “Because I don’t want to see you hurt.”

The words hit you harder than any sword could. You stared at him, confused and conflicted. “We’re enemies,” you whispered. “You’re supposed to want to see me fall.”

His hand remained on yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. “Maybe we don’t have to be enemies anymore,” he said softly. “We’ve fought for so long, but what if there’s another way?”

You wanted to argue, to push him away, but his words—his gaze—cut through your defenses. There was a sincerity in his eyes, a raw honesty that you hadn’t been prepared for. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you let yourself wonder if he was right.

Edmund stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper now. “You don’t have to fight this war alone. You don’t have to carry this burden anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as he inched nearer. The battlefield, the chaos around you—all of it seemed to fade away. There was only him. And for the first time, you realized how much you had been fighting against yourself, not just him.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand brushing against your cheek. The touch sent a shiver down your spine. “Because… I think I’ve been fighting against myself too,” he admitted. “I’ve hated this war as much as you do.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit, but there was none. Just vulnerability. A rawness you hadn’t expected to see in him.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in, your breath mingling with his. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world stood still. Then, slowly, cautiously, he closed the distance between you.

His lips met yours in a tentative kiss, soft and warm, like a promise. Your heart raced, and for a moment, you forgot everything—the war, the pain, the years of hatred. All that mattered was this. Him.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was shallow, and his eyes were filled with a mix of relief and something deeper. “We don’t have to keep fighting,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

For the first time in years, you let yourself believe him.

C.S. Lewis had a brother. He knew what he was writing about Edmund ratted out his siblings for candy.

Perfection

White Moves First, Part 2 ~ Edmund Pevensie

I’ve had this part written for a while but needed to work up the motivation to post it, so here it is. Here’s the part where jealous Edmund comes in. I hope you like it @emotionallyattachedteen​! 

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.4k

White Moves First masterlist

With the care Rona applied the rouge to my cheeks, one would’ve thought the whole evening revolved around the perfect pink tint of my cheeks. Prince Rabadash wouldn’t magically love Archenland because of the ministrations of my lady’s maid. 

Honestly, I wasn’t sure there was anything that could divert him from the path of war. 

Rona finally abandoned the pot of the dark pink powder, her fingers fluttering to my hair. 

I opened my jewelry drawer, my hands hovering over the various rings, brooches, necklaces, and hair pieces. Selecting a dainty silver bracelet, I slid it onto my wrist, secretly hoping Prince Rabadash hated silver. 

A knock sounded against my door. “Are you decent?” my father’s voice called from the other side.

“Let him in,” I murmured to Rona, who scurried off to do just that. Instead of greeting my father, I continued where she’d left off, placing little clips to hold my hair in place. The ball would start soon, and it would not do for the princess of Archenland to be late. 

“Y/N?” My father appeared behind me in my mirror. 

“Yes?” I said, without pausing. 

My father didn’t reply, and that was when, in the mirror, I spotted the box he held tightly to his chest. I swiveled to face him, noticing for the first time how nervous he looked. “What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath. “You are the one female member of our family.”

I raised my eyebrows. Had he just noticed this? “Yes…I am.”

Never had my father seemed so uncomfortable in all my life. “The prince—Prince Rabadash—you know, the prince coming tonight?”

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