AN: I've found the Narnia fandom far, far too dark and depressing. Thus, I bring you this. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Forgive the errors, for it's late and I'm too tired to reread.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Pevensies or Narnia.


Why One Should Always Have Blemishes

Edmund watched enviously as his brother danced among the crowd, twirling a slender, pretty blond woman in graceful circles. Peter had his courteous courtier's smile on, and he was not displaying much interest, but the woman was flirting unabashedly enough for the both of them. She had even gone far enough to place a hand on his chest, the shameless hussy! Still maintaining that polite smile, the ever-calm Peter gently distanced himself from her, guiding the hand to more acceptable regions. Her lust-filled gaze never strayed from his face, drinking hungrily in the square jaw and tranquil blue eyes with the air of someone possessed.

It just wasn't fair! thought Edmund angrily as he watched the pair, the woman obviously lusting after, of all people, his brother. (Incase you have had the fortune of never seeing another lust after a sibling, it is an experience that is thoroughly nauseating.) Peter always got all the girls!

He was no High King, yes, but surely Edmund was not so very repugnant to women that so very few ever came for his hand in marriage?! They flocked to Peter's doorstep—not literally, of course, for Cair Paravel belonged to the four of them—in the hundreds! Perhaps thousands, even! And the same could be said for Susan—men threw themselves at her feet! At sixteen, even Lucy was probably receiving more suitors than him, a King!

But not one of his siblings received more offers than Peter. Something about him—his piercing gaze, perhaps, or his broad shoulders and golden mop of hair—attracted the opposite gender like flies to honey.

It simply was not fair!

Edmund fumed near the refreshments, continuing his thoughts in this vein while alternately watching his brother and drinking goblet after goblet of wine. Every time Peter changed dance partners—and there were many who wished to dance with him—Edmund would violently drain another couple mouthfuls.

"Stupid oaf, with his stupid manly jaw and his stupid muscled arms and his stupid shiny yellow hair—yellow! Shiny! Like buttercups! Rather feminine, if you ask me…!"

Unfortunately, no one was asking anything of King Edmund. That is, until a young women of about Lucy's age sidled up to him.

"Excuse me, King Edmund?" she asked, slipping into a dainty curtsey. Edmund turned to her in surprise. Could it be—no, surely his eyes were deceiving him—but it was! A woman, a pretty young lady with tumbling dark hair and tan skin, speaking voluntarily to him, King Edmund the Leper!

"Yes, milady?" returned Edmund in his most gracious tones. The woman was slender, with wide dark green eyes—not a bad first conquest for the night, not at all—and she definitely would not be the only conquest. Once the women saw how this lovely lady fell for his boyish charms, they would begin thronging him by the herds! Take that, Peter!

"How may I help you?" As an afterthought, he took her hair and brushed it with her lips, a rather gallant touch if he did say so himself.

The woman giggled. "Well, your Majesty," she said, her eyes fixed quite intensely upon his face, "I have been watching you tonight and I've realized that my King cuts quite the fine figure." Edmund felt himself flush in pleasure. Perhaps he had had a bit too much to drink. "I came here to say that—" Here she cut herself off, blushing profusely.

Edmund leaned in eagerly. "Pray tell, lovely lady. You can tell your King anything."

She looked up again, smiling prettily. "Oh, your Majesty is too kind. As I was saying, I came here to say that I have found that you have the loveliest lashes I have ever had the pleasure to witness! Long and dark—I am most envious, milord! And your Majesty also owns the fairest skin I have seen in a long while. I must know, my King," she leaned in conspiratorially, "what is your secret? Your face is free of any blemishes whatsoever, hardly a freckle to be found—"

And Edmund could take no more. He slammed his goblet onto the nearby table with a thunderous clap, causing many to drop whatever refreshment they were endeavoring to scoop up.

"Hear that?!" he cried. "Did you hear that 'boom'? That, milady, was the strength of a man!"

The tan woman, apparently losing both her nerve and her steam, began to back away.

"Yes, a man! A true manly man! Pray tell, fair lady, what does Peter possess that I lack? Is it looks? Is it charm? For I assure you, milady, that I myself possess a most biting wit—"

"Mi—Milord," the poor woman was stuttering, "I hardly meant any offense when I—"

"And looks! I have been often told I possess the more chiseled face of us two brothers! My skin is healthy with time spent in the sun; my eyes have been described as soulful! My dark locks are always stylishly tousled! Since when do women not like style, hmm!? Because I beg your pardon, but I did not receive that particular decree—"

Much to the woman's relief (and most other ball-goers' dissapointment), however, Edmund's siblings had taken notice of the ruckus by now. Peter had quickly dismissed his dancing partner and was making his way to his brother, while Lucy and Susan were doing likewise.

"And I'm tall, nearly as tall as Peter! I'm sure you—you picky creatures don't measure us Kings by the centimeters! And I'm strong, too; my muscles are said to be quite fluid, far more subtle than those of any old troll—oh, and I wield the best swordsmanship in all Narnia! Ah, but I forget, a man has to be High King to be received as manly around here! Well, forgive me if I'm rather prettier than any of you lot, I suppose you all want me to tell you my beauty secrets for my marvelously pale skin and wonderfully long eyelashes, now—"

"Edmund!" cried Peter, finally reaching the refreshments and cutting off his brother off as he was preparing to launch into another branch of his extenuous tirade, "Have you gone ma—"

"PETER!" screamed Edmund upon catching sight of the High King. "You—you—scarlet man! You woman stealer! Oh, my wonderfully wonderful manly brother, the one with the fat manly face and hairy manly arms and legs and whatnot—well, let me tell you, I counted twenty-five chest hairs the other day—TWENTY-FIVE, ladies! Chest hairs are usually discriminating evidence of a person's gender—thus proving once and for all that I am a manly man! A MANLY MAN! NO—no, I don't want—Manly man—"

And thus, King Edmund the Just was quite literally dragged kicking and screaming out of the banquet hall, leaving in his wake a stunned ball and a terrified woman. Needless to say, the number of his suitors thinned drastically from that point on.

END