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⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ brontide ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
If someone had told young Lorna Caelum that one day she would be holding Edmund Pevensie's hand, she would have dismissed it as a wild, feverish dream. Somehow, even the thought of being near the legend she had admired from her grandmother's stories was surreal. Yet there she was, at seventeen — nearly eighteen — years old, clutching the hand of the Just King as they meandered back from the enchanted clearing on Vesper.
The aftermath of their kiss had left them in a wordless haze, their silence woven with unspoken promises and shared secrets. The moonlight bathed them in a silvery glow, and Edmund's smile was like a torch in the night. He didn't speak, instead, he allowed his hand to trail tenderly down her face, each touch a whisper of his affection. His fingers sought hers, intertwining with a delicate certainty.
As they approached the camp, the firelight flickering in the distance, Lorna's breath hitched, breaking the silence. Edmund turned to her, concern etched in his features.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice a soft caress in the cool night air. The uncertainty in her eyes spoke louder than any words, and with a gentle smile, he reassured her. "We can keep this a secret if you want to."
"I don't know what I want," Lorna admitted.
Edmund's smile deepened, radiating patience and understanding. "Well, I will be here, waiting for you to decide. Whatever you choose, I will be okay with that," he said, his words a promise wrapped in warmth.
Lorna's heart swelled with unspoken gratitude, and as he moved to step forward, she gently tugged at his hand, halting him. "Just one second," she murmured.
Her hand rose to his face, brushing away the damp strands of hair that clung to his forehead. Her fingers traced the lines of his features with a reverent tenderness, as if committing each curve and contour to memory. She outlined his forehead, eyelids, the delicate arches of his eyebrows, the straight line of his nose, the high planes of his cheekbones, and finally, the soft curve of his lips. Edmund stood motionless, his breath suspended, savoring the exquisite sensation of her touch.
When her fingers finished their exploration, she leaned in, her heart pounding in her chest, and closed the space between them with a kiss. This kiss was different, softer, gentler, a delicate brush of lips that held a world of unspoken emotions.
Pulling away, they shared a lingering smile. As they resumed their walk, nearing the warmth of the campfire, Lorna's hand slipped from his grasp. Edmund didn't protest, he understood her hesitation, the tentative nature of her newfound feelings. She had struggled to reveal her heart to him, and he knew it was too soon for her to lay it bare before the world.
No one spoke when Lorna and Edmund returned to the camp in the middle of the night, their whispers and laughter blending softly into the crackling firelight. No one, except for Lucy.
