𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖊𝖗𝖆 | e. pevensie

( 𝐢𝐯.)

My words take a second to form properly. "Thank you," I reply. "But I will have to decline, your majesty. I'll be quite alright on my own, you see." As proof, I lift one foot so he can see the soft skin turn tough and calloused.

"Alright." His hands fall to his sides, a light smile still adorning his face. "The offer still stands."

I nod. "Noted."

King Edmund politely gestures for me to go on ahead of him, as the path doesn't look quite wide enough to fit both of us. I hesitate, knowing full well what sort of view the king will be subject to if I'm to walk ahead of him on the steep trail.

"Um." Lips pressed together, I hug the damp tunic tightly to my body and fix him with a really? look that hopefully gets my point across. It does.

"Oh." His teasing smile falls sheepish. "Right...Sorry." Hand resting on his sword hilt, the king leads the way up the path, glancing over his shoulder to ensure I'm still there — as if worried I might run off the first chance I get.

Soon enough, the narrow path opens up and the king slows his pace to walk beside me.

He looks at me with yet another dazzling smile. "Still don't want me to carry you?"

With a smirk, I raise an eyebrow. "I'll let you know, your highness."

He grins, a small laugh escaping him as he looks away — at the ground as we trek — as if in thought. "You're welcome to call me by my name, if you'd like," he says, looking up at me again. "Feels strange being addressed like that after we've been gone so long."

I laugh. "It feels strange calling someone my own age a king."

He seems shocked. "Your age?" He repeats. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight."

His mouth hangs open, eyes just about falling out of their sockets as he stares, causing me to laugh.

"You're thirty-eight years old?" He repeats in disbelief. "Do you," he gestures to me, struggling for the right words, "...make yourself look younger? Or something?"

I'm still laughing at his absolutely adorable state of confusion and eventually, he starts laughing as well. "What's so funny?" He asks.

I grin, finally settling down enough to explain. "How old are you, Edmund?"

He stares at me with incredible, bright eyes. "Not nearly as old as you," he chuckles teasingly.

I push him with my elbow. "How old?" I repeat.

"Sixteen."

"And how long do humans usually live?"

He shrugs, reaching forward to push a low-hanging tree branch out of our way. "About sixty-five years or so."

"We can live up to two-hundred years," I say. "Which means I've only lived about twenty percent of my life. I can alter my appearance but not my physical age, which means whatever form I choose to take, that twenty percent will be reflected. In my hawk form, I have the physical appearance of a three-year-old hawk. In my human form, I look sixteen. It's all relative."