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Caspian went to bed later than his custom one night, Edmund already snug in their bunk, dozing lightly. Even the soft tread of Caspian’s footsteps next to their bed was enough to wake Edmund, who looked at Caspian from under his eyelashes, still mostly asleep. He was about to greet the king when Caspian began to strip, pulling his loose white blouse over his head. A flash of black at Caspian’s hip caught Edmund’s eye.
Edmund inhaled sharply and reflexively looked away, but it was too late. He had seen what looked like a sunburst peeking out from Caspian’s breeches. It looked an awful lot like the sunburst on his own hipbone, though he couldn’t be sure.
Edmund’s head spun with dizzy, breathless thoughts as Caspian’s clothes fell to the floor and the king slipped in beside Edmund (warm and smelling of salt, one cool foot brushing Edmund’s under the thin covers — ). He wasn’t supposed to know, no one was. It wasn’t something he felt equipped to bring up. Yet the thought of contriving some reason for Caspian to see him half naked felt wrong, somehow, despite the fact that they were on a ship and there could be any number of reasons for them to be half-naked. They’d nearly gone swimming at the last island, after all, until it was revealed the water would have turned them to gold. He would just have to wait.
But that all applied only if Edmund was right about what he’d seen, and one part of his brain niggled at him ceaselessly: it was dark in the hull of the ship. He’d only seen part of the mark. He’d only seen it for half a second before instinctively looking away. Was it just wishful thinking? It had to be, right? But if it wasn’t? Edmund wasn’t sure what was worse. Would he want to be with Caspian? Yes, obviously, a thousand times yes; but he hardly felt prepared for such a thing to happen. He wouldn’t know where to begin. But to be mistaken — to have his hopes up only for them to be dashed when Caspian found his real soulmate — that definitely had to be worse.
Well. In any case, he wasn’t supposed to know. He wouldn’t say a word, then. He’d try to let it all play out.
That was what Edmund tried to tell himself, anyway. But with Caspian only inches away… Edmund turned to face Caspian, who faced away from Edmund. That left his broad back, tanned and freckled from all his time in the sun. Edmund closed his eyes and thought about running his hands down that back, then even further down…
Okay. That was not a good avenue of thought to pursue. Edmund crossed his legs, conscious of every movement making the cover crinkle and the bed slats sigh. He laid awake for what fell like hours, tossing and turning while Caspian laid mostly still.
Edmund kept an eye out for another sighting of Caspian’s mark, half hoping and half dreading the possibility, but he didn’t see it again. Caspian wore an extra layer of linen under his breeches to keep it covered, as royalty were meant to, and it never slipped. (It must have been sweaty or something that night, Edmund mused, to have slipped down far enough to give him a view.) Edmund thought there might be an opportunity on the next island, but that turned out to be a wash: the general anxiety at Lucy going into the mansion alone had kept them from swimming, and even after, the joy of the Dufflepuds at discovering they could boat on their giant feet kept most of the sailors occupied without getting into the water themselves.
Then came two weeks of sailing without a sighting of land, followed by the horrors of the dark mist they’d mistaken for an island. Caspian featured prominently in Edmund’s waking nightmares. After their escape, Edmund found himself torn between keeping a constant eye on Caspian to make sure he was safe, and averting his gaze, afraid the king might recreate some of the horrors the Dark Island had invented.
All of that to say, the soulmark fell from the forefront of Edmund’s mind until the events that transpired upon Ramandu’s Island.
Jealousy roiled in his gut as he watched Caspian bend low over the hand of Ramandu’s daughter, promising he would be back for his kiss after they broke the curse. It brought up the argument he’d had with himself three weeks ago or so, that night he’d seen the sunburst on Caspian’s hip. Should he bring it up? Caspian would want to know, if he was about to embark upon a romance with this woman, right? Traditionally, no one knew a royal’s soulmark. It was said to prevent their subjects from getting a matching tattoo to trick the sovereign. But Edmund couldn’t have gotten a tattoo aboard the Dawn Treader, surely…or if he had, getting such a large and densely coloured tattoo would have taken hours, and everyone would have noticed sooner or later. Plus, his mark was settled, with no hint of the red, swollen skin that would indicate a relatively fresh tattoo.
Still, something about it made him feel uneasy. The very circumstance was embarrassing. Wouldn’t it look as though he just said it out of jealousy, with it so obvious Caspian was taken with the star’s daughter? In any case, they were about to sail on to the end of the world, with no idea what would happen there. There was no telling if they would come back to Ramandu’s Island, no telling if Caspian would still be interested in the woman, or she in him.
All of this was what Edmund told himself to avoid admitting he was nervous, of course, though it all sounded perfectly logical to him at the time. So he continued to say nothing, merely averting his gaze whenever Caspian looked lovingly in her direction, responding to the king’s comments about her stunning beauty with half-hearted mumbles of assent.
He couldn’t help being relieved when they set off again, leaving Ramandu’s daughter on the island. His heart couldn’t help lifting at the sight of the ocean at the end of the world, clear and beautiful and sweet, filled with fascinating sea people. Many of the sailors took their shirts off in the increased light, though it was hardly hot enough to merit it. Finally, Edmund had his opportunity, though suddenly he felt unaccountably shy. He kept his shirt on.
Then they made it to the sea of lilies — lilies as far as the eye could see, blending into one blindingly-white surface, expanding out to the horizon. They all took turns going out in the little boat to float amongst the lilies, swimming along the bottom of the shallow sea, burying their faces in the blooms to take in their intoxicating scent. With Caspian back on the Dawn Treader, Edmund left his clothes in the little boat and gleefully dove into the shallow water. He took in a mouthful water and sprayed it back out again, sending a perfect arc of liquid light at Lucy and Eustace.
Normally one or both of them might have splashed him, or Eustace would certainly have dunked him underwater, in retaliation. But at the end of the world, serene and white as far as the eye could see, they only laughed and sent gentle arcs of water back in Edmund’s direction. He contentedly floated on his back while Lucy piled nearby lilies on top of him without breaking their stems — severing them from their roots seemed wrong, somehow.
Eventually the whole crew (except Reepicheep and poor Pittencream, of course) reunited on the deck of the Dawn Treader, smiling and clapping each other on the back. Edmund couldn’t help but look at Caspian, shirtless and glowing in the intense light, long hair dripping puddles onto the deck. He looked like a creature of light himself, more than Ramandu the star or the white sun-birds that visited his island every morning. He was just in his underclothes, as were most of the men, but even so the linen swathed round his hips kept his mark concealed.
The excitement and serenity of the sea at the end of the world temporarily banished Ramandu’s daughter from Edmund’s mind, but as they turned the Dawn Treader westward and the sea grew salty once more, the memory came rushing back. All Edmund could do was watch and wait.
Sure enough, Ramandu’s daughter (Edmund was tiring of calling her this; why hadn’t they thought to get her name?) came up more and more frequently in Caspian’s conversation as they approached the island. Edmund struggled with the urge to turn away when she came up, or to tell Caspian about his mark, but it never seemed like quite the right time —
— until Caspian said he wanted to ask her to come back to Narnia.
He said it while they stood at the carved figurehead of the Dawn Treader, looking ahead at the sliver of the island they could see on the horizon, and he turned to Edmund to see what he thought. Caspian’s mouth curved in a gentle, hopeful smile, like what he was seeing was not just an island but his whole future, and Edmund’s stomach curdled.
Edmund swallowed and rubbed his palms on his breeches.
“What troubles you? Do you not think it a good idea?” Caspian leaned forward, eyebrows knitting together.
“Caspian.” Edmund tried his best to keep his gaze locked on the king’s, but at Caspian’s look of concern, he couldn’t help looking down.
“What is it? Please, Edmund. I trust your counsel.” Caspian clapped one hand on Edmund’s shoulder. Then, when Edmund didn’t respond, he put his hand under Edmund’s chin; not forcing it up, merely applying a gentle pressure.
Edmund met Caspian’s eyes. “There’s only this,” he said, unbuttoning his breeches. He pulled down the left edge only enough to show off the top of the sunburst. “I — “
Caspian dropped to his knees, one hand halfway to touching Edmund’s mark before he stopped. “Can I — ?”
“Yes,” Edmund whispered.
Caspian ran his fingers over the mark as though touching something precious and delicate. Edmund closed his eyes and shivered under the touch of Caspian’s hand. They’d touched before, of course; they slept in the same bed, for Aslan’s sake, but never had a touch felt as charged as this.
“How?” Caspian looked up and met Edmund’s gaze, eyes wet, a tear already spilling onto one cheek.
“I don’t know, your…” Edmund gestured down at Caspian, unsure what to call the bit of linen. He was a bit choked up, anyway, and words weren’t his friend. “One night when you were changing.”
Caspian opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He cleared his throat. “And you couldn’t tell me…”
“Not until now,” Edmund finished. He held out one hand; Caspian accepted it, and together they pulled Caspian to his feet.
“Sire?” one of the sailors called, looking over their direction.
“Let’s go…somewhere,” Edmund said.
“Yes.” Caspian laughed. “But where?”
“Your old cabin? I’m sure Lucy wouldn’t mind.”
And indeed, as they walked down the deck of the ship, buzzing with the awareness of the other only a few inches away, they passed Lucy, who was only too happy to lend them “her” cabin for as long as they required. She must have seen something in their faces, for she (uncharacteristically) asked no questions.
Once inside the cabin, door fully barred, Caspian reached for Edmund’s breeches. “May I?”
Edmund nodded, and Caspian tugged down his breeches until he could see the full sunburst. He traced the curved rays of light radiating from the centre of the sun.
Before Edmund could ask to do the same, Caspian scooted away and pulled down his own breeches. Caspian reached for the linen —
“Can I?”
Caspian looked up at Edmund and nodded, holding his breath as Edmund took the fabric and began to unwrap it. His face was so close to Caspian he could smell the saltwater still drying on his skin, the scent of the water lilies still clinging. Even though Caspian’s reaction had confirmed it for Edmund, with each inch of the sunburst revealed, his heart burst a little more. They were — oh, he couldn’t bear to think it. They were — !
As Edmund unwrapped, Caspian gradually lay back on the bed until he was fully reclining. Finally, the whole mark lay bare: a sunburst sprawling across the groove between Caspian’s hipbone and groin, the hidden skin much paler than his tanned torso. Transfixed, Edmund leaned in closer, one hand on Caspian’s hip, until he realised what he was doing.
“It’s alright,” Caspian said thickly, and Edmund glanced up at his face, taking in his shaky smile, the tear he dashed from the corner of one eye.
He closed his eyes and leaned forward again until his lips brushed Caspian’s skin, marked with the black design that inextricably linked them together. Caspian’s strong arms wrapped around him and tugged. Edmund allowed himself to be pulled up the bed until he was face to face with the king, close enough to see his freckles, close enough to feel his breath tickle Edmund’s skin.
“I dared not hope it was you,” Caspian whispered.
“You — but — her?” Edmund managed.
Caspian shook his head. “I thought I had no chance with you, so I should…look elsewhere.”
“You need look no further, Caspian.”
Caspian buried his face in Edmund’s shoulder, pulling him in even closer. “Then I’m a very lucky man.”
“As am I.”