MFB04: Reminiscenses of the Sun King

That night King Edmund hung his brother’s handkerchief to dry before the fireplace in his bedroom. The small square of cloth was a brilliant purple in many places, and although the Raccoons who did the royal laundry assured him that they could get the stains out, he politely declined.

“I’m keeping this as a reminder,” he told his surprised subjects, “that a little foolishness may cause more mischief than one bargained for. It would have been dreadful if the High King had to go about his business for days with those marks on his face!”

The Raccoons nodded in agreement, although chuckling that it had been glorious to see the two young kings having such sport.

“Especially his highness, King Peter,” said one kindly old Raccoon, Mrs. Dumplesugar. “We haven’t seen him laugh so hard all winter! Eh, you did a good thing for him, you did, King Edmund. Nothing like a good romp to take the cares of the Crown off your blessed brother’s head. He has worries enough for his tender years — not that he doesn’t bear them like a true Man, of course, but every so often he must want some amusement to ease his mind, I’m sure.”

Her words echoed in Edmund’s thoughts later as he lay in bed, recalling the events of the day. It was true that Peter had laughed and smiled more like his old self than he had in months, but Edmund had also noticed significant changes in his brother. He had watched Peter grow up from an ordinary boy into a responsible youth practically overnight when they had first come to Narnia (although he had missed Peter’s first battle with the Wolf, having been with the White Witch at the time), and then in the ensuing months the oldest Pevensie had very quickly grown into a king — a hard task even for a man twice his age. And he was not just any king but the High King of Narnia, a land with diverse creatures as his subjects, which also happened to be in the process of stamping out the evil hordes of the White Witch. Edmund greatly admired the courage with which Peter led their troops into battle, as well as the judicious manner in which he settled disputes among his subjects and negotiated with emissaries of foreign nations, and had realised long since that his brother was not only a good king, but a great one. He was, in fact, justifiably proud to be King Peter’s brother.

However, the change that Edmund had noted today was of a more personal nature. Despite being a fair and reasonable monarch, Peter was still (in their private moments) just his older brother, and could lose patience with his siblings as easily as any other young man put in charge of three (sometimes trying) younger children. He had been exasperated by Edmund’s antics often enough before they had come to Narnia. But today, in spite of the childish prank that Edmund had pulled on him and the near-disastrous results thereof, he had not so much as groused about the situation but had graciously accepted his brother’s apology. Even when Edmund had scrubbed hard to clean his face, Peter had not breathed a word of complaint.

Edmund turned in his bed, remembering how flushed his brother had been — no doubt from all of the rigorous scrubbing — with a deep pang of guilt. There was also an element of wistfulness, too, as he realised that Peter was growing up into a “true Man” as Mrs. Dumplesugar had put it. Combined with the discovery that his brother had the beginnings of a beard, it made him feel as though the distance between them were growing greater, filling him with a sadness that he could not put into words. The whole business of Peter’s being in love already made him seem more distant, and Edmund feared (irrationally, of course, but there it was nonetheless) that he would never be able to catch up to his older brother, as though he alone would be left behind in childhood forever.

What the younger king failed to recognise, of course, were the changes in his own person. Edmund had arrived in Narnia as a rather selfish and self-centered boy who had allowed the worst of his nature to come to the surface — largely due to the influences of his friends at school the previous year. Meeting with Aslan had changed all of that; indeed, since his encounter with the White Witch, he would forever after be more circumspect in how he chose his friends. And having been duped once by honeyed words (although, it must be owned, with a good deal of magic as well), he was cautious of those whose flattery seemed contrived or insincere. King Peter had learned to trust in his brother’s judgment when dealing with foreign ambassadors, for King Edmund seemed to have an instinct for knowing when a man’s word rang false.

Edmund had also proven to be an excellent student of Logic and Reason, which several of the wisest Centaurs came to Cair Paravel to teach the royal children at the High King’s request. They all studied History, Geography, Astronomy, and the like under the tutelage of the sage Centaurs; but the younger king, despite their difference in years, had kept pace with his older brother in subjects pertaining to Reason — a fact that, as King Peter demurely remarked, would no doubt have pleased the old Professor back in England. In Dialectics, King Edmund was so artful in presenting both sides of the argument that he could hash out a debate by himself and come to a reasonable and impartial conclusion. The High King now never made decisions of state without first asking for, and carefully considering, his brother’s opinion.

Edmund had grown not only in wisdom and understanding but also in stature over the past few years. He had been a mere boy (and a rather small one at that) when Aslan had crowned them all kings and queens. Since then he had shot up quite rapidly, and if Peter had not grown at a fair pace as well, Edmund might have caught up with his older brother. As it was they were still separated by a few inches in height, but the gap was closing the older they grew. In a few years’ time Edmund would not need Peter to sit down in order to wipe his brow with ease.

However, where Peter had always been solidly built, Edmund grew lean and (to his mind) gangly. When the High King trained at sword-fighting in the courtyard, Edmund watched with brooding envy as his brother delivered powerful blows, wishing for similarly broad shoulders on his own narrow frame. He did not know that Peter, in turn, admired his younger brother’s grace and agility — which made Edmund’s training seem more like a dance. In truth, for a long time Peter had coveted Edmund’s light-footedness, for when the Dryads and Hamadryads had taught them how to dance (as one must have balls, occasionally, at court), Peter had felt himself encumbered with two left feet, while Edmund had flitted nimbly about the hall. It would have surprised the younger king exceedingly to know that often, when Peter was staring off into space, he was actually daydreaming of dancing with his brother to the lilting tunes of the Fauns’ reed pipes.

But tonight it was Edmund who was haunted by Peter’s visage, remembering with a heavy heart how harshly he had had to scrub to get the stain off of it. The patience and forbearance with which Peter had subjected himself to the cleaning made him seem all the more noble, regal, and majestic, and Edmund thought — as he had so often before — that Aslan could not have chosen a fitter Man to be High King. And Edmund was also certain (though he could hardly be expected to own it to anyone, let alone to Peter himself) that his brother was the most handsome Son of Adam in all of Narnia, and perhaps in all of the lands beyond.

In the darkness, Edmund remembered how radiantly Peter had laughed today and could almost feel the warmth of the Sun’s rays upon his body again; for somewhere deep in his mind, he had connected Peter (especially a smiling Peter) with bright sunlight and joy and gladness. He had heard the term “the Sun King” back in his school in England when he had been studying our own world’s History, but the monarch in the poorly-copied portrait of his textbook looked nothing like what a true Sun King ought, in Edmund’s mind. But on that day when they had first come to Cair Paravel and Peter had been given his golden crown, Edmund had seen his brother’s face filled with solemn joy and knew in that instant that here was a Sun King in every sense — one whose rule would benefit the land just as sunlight caused the plants to grow and flourish, and a Man in whom there was neither guile nor darkness.

Edmund drew a deep breath and sighed. He had always known that Peter held no darkness in his soul, and he was still certain that there was no deceit or malice in his brother’s heart. However, the sadness there had cast a pall over the luster of his reign, and as his fellow king as well as his brother, Edmund could not help but wish that the object of the High King’s love would choose to return it, so that all would be well in the world — so that Peter would smile and laugh as he used to do.

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In the next room, Peter was wishing much the same thing, although chiding himself for being unable to relinquish his hopeless dreams. Daydreams, that is, even though the fair beauty of his brother pervaded the dreams of his slumber as well. Tonight he was more troubled than ever before, since every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Edmund’s fingers upon his face and feel the warm wetness of his tongue in that brief moment that it had touched his brow. Peter clenched his hands until his nails dug painfully into his palms, trying to forget the smooth expanse of tender skin that he had felt through his brother’s tunic as he had held him, but all in vain. He sighed and got up, pulling on his dressing gown as he walked out to the balcony in his bare feet. Sleep would not come easily tonight, he knew.

The marble floor was not as cold as it had been only weeks before, and Peter noted it as a harbinger of summer in the back of his exhausted mind. He needed the wind to be cold and biting now, but all was still, allowing him to clearly hear the waves crashing on to the shore far below. He was disturbed by how eagerly, even hungrily, his body had yearned for his oblivious brother. The High King knew that his unholy lust was thrice condemned: first, because it was for one of his own sex; second, because it was for one of his own family; and third, because it was for one who was not yet fully matured as a Man.

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Not fully grown, but not still a child, either. It had been less than a year since the beginning of their reign when, one morning, Edmund did not come to the breakfast table, claiming to be ill. He had asked Peter through Mr. Tumnus to visit him at his earliest convenience, and Peter (who guessed as to the true nature of his brother’s illness) had swallowed his eggs and toast in haste and hurried back to the royal quarters. His knock was answered immediately by Edmund’s tremulous voice, and upon entering he saw his younger brother’s pale face drawn in worry, his eyes red-rimmed. Peter sat next to him and placed an arm around his shoulders at once.

“I’m sorry, Ed,” he began, “I should have realised that… well, since Father isn’t with us, I should have talked to you about… this sort of thing, before it actually happened. But first off, you should know that it’s completely natural and nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, it’s proof that you’re growing older — that you’re that much closer to being a man.”

After explaining the functions of the human anatomy (almost word-for-word what their father had told him, several years prior) and assuring his distressed brother that the same thing happened to him, too, Peter finally coaxed him into slipping out from under the blankets and brought over the chamber-pot.

“But I… I don’t know how,” Edmund wailed, distraught and somewhat overwrought by the changes in his body. “And it… it hurts.”

“The sooner you get it over with, the sooner it will stop hurting,” Peter told him, trying to remember how their father had instructed him. However, since their father had spoken to Peter before he had left for the War — in anticipation of his eldest son’s physical development during his absence — the situation was not quite the same. Edmund flushed scarlet as he bared himself, then touched the offending member tentatively but quickly withdrew his hand.

“I can’t. I just… I don’t know how,” he moaned. “Won’t you help me? Please, Peter?”

Faced with such a desperate plea, Peter could not refuse.

“All right, then, I’ll sit here and you can stand in front of me. You’ll have to aim it yourself, though, since I can’t jolly well see around you. Ready? Lean against me if you need to steady yourself. All right. Here goes, then…”

And continuing to speak as soothingly as he knew how, he had grasped his brother’s manhood in his calloused hand and gently fondled it the way he would his own. Edmund gasped in surprise as the pleasure outstripped the pain, clutching his brother’s shoulder with one hand while trying to remember to point his tip towards the chamber-pot with the other. He did need to lean against Peter’s broad chest, panting and moaning, as Peter’s hand moved ever more quickly and led him to the brink. Edmund cried out as his seed spattered, uncontrolled, across the floor (entirely missing the chamber-pot), then he collapsed against his brother like a horse that had been galloped for far too long.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked, catching him and setting him down on one knee.

“I… Oh, Peter… That was… Wow!” he gasped incoherently.

“I know,” his older brother chuckled. “But it’s better now, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” Edmund agreed with enthusiasm. Then he twisted round to fling his arms about Peter’s neck. “Thanks,” was all he mumbled into his shoulder, but Peter understood.

“You’re on your own, now, though,” he warned. “Do you think you can handle it?”

Edmund blushed a bright crimson as he nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got it sorted now!”

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It was around that time that Peter had begun to notice how beautiful his brother was becoming. And now, two years later, he was faced with the same embarrassing problem as his brother had then, just from remembering how lovely Edmund had looked when he had pinned him to the ground that morning. Returning to his room, Peter relieved himself while his imagination ran wild, chasing Edmund through the woods like a hunter would its prey until he had caught, conquered, and ravished him.

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Leave a comment


  1. amber

     /  2016/04/19

    i am so confused. is peter teaching Edmund how to masturbate?

  2. the-great-dragon

     /  2017/02/02

    Oh Peter, you sweet summer child. You are not supposed to give a handjob until the third date 😉


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