[ONGOING]
[THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA:
PRINCE CASPIAN ➵ THE LAST BATTLE]
[EDMUND PEVENSIE × FEM!OC]
[HIGHEST RANKINGS:
#548 IN 'FANFICTION' OUT OF 116K STORIES
#164 IN 'FANTASY' OUT OF 22.4K STORIES]
･°*✧•.
𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧
- 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦
Begi...
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11 | NEAR-LOSS HARDENED HIS SHIELD
"What is this place?" resonates a bumble of an intonation.
"You don't know?" questions another voice, laden with incredulity. She identifies that articulation - Caspian.
The conversation comes to a close, compensated by echoes of treading feet, some a little too brash, others a little too oppressive.
The footsteps cease, the only sonance filling the air constituting the clanging of iron by weaponry makers and the crackle of flames.
"He must know what he's doing," says a female.
She recognises her voice. It's the girl with the cordial, someone brimming with amiability. That is, till her brother came along and-
Hold it, what was it that happened?
She sits up, the accelerated movement blossoming inky specks round her eyes.
For a bit, she senses herself very nearly keeling over again.
That's it, she recalls. She passed out, didn't she?
"I think it's up to us now," a male, this time, contributes to the conversation she has been tapping on this whole time.
She paces to the exit of the chamber, immersing in the orange tint of the place's illumination, before taking a turn into the gloom of the tunnels. It occurs that she is lodged at the last room, for there is no left to turn to, only the contrary.
To the right she wanders, burrowing through estranged passages towards alternate glows of fire, in pursuance of a second being.
She chances upon another chamber, one furnished by the light of a vehement fire. She can feel it's heat metres from its door.
She springs towards the apricot flare, only to yelp as an individual departs the room just split seconds before she enters.
His russet eyes widens at the hairbreadth escape from death as she arrests her momentum.
He is the High King's brother, younger brother. Except, she doesn't catalog him under this status. She associates him, instead, with poignant torture.
She remembers the gaze he shot her as he rescued his sister.
There he is, executing it yet again, boring at her with cold eyes, but behind those dauntless veils she can still very plainly decipher his apprehension, his distaste.
And when his hand glides onto the grip of his sword - subconsciously or not - she fractures.
Why did she show herself anyway? She could have just languished away in the chamber she was put in, leaving only when someone who truly desires to interact with her comes to get her.
