ironysoul | Alphonse/Edmund: The one where they're furries

One hundred years in feline form, and now walking on two legs feels stilted. There was a knot between his shoulders that Al knew he could stretch out if he switched to fur. He could hunker down on his haunches and reach his front paws out far, sinking into a bow that would make every nodule of his spine pop. But while King Peter hadn't expressly banned fur, Al (and for that matter, the rest of the pride) still felt like it was something frowned upon now. Lesser, than their human form. At the very least that they should be grateful for it being restored.

He flexed paws (hands) and reminded himself again that his claws wouldn't unsheathe from the tips of his fingers. A hundred years in fur, and after almost a decade being able to change, he still felt wrong in this one.

At least, in the years since the age of winter, the pride had been restored to Cair Paravel. They'd served as stewards for generations, until Jadis had banished them. Not, Al was forced to admit, that he'd have been a particularly deft housekeeper with four paws. Maybe he could have dusted with his tail. The thought made him giggle.

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From:

just_edmund

The sound of a giggle made his ears prick. Not a Dryad's sylvan laughter or the titter of a Titmouse, but a surprisingly deep, masculine chortle. Edmund's sharp gaze turned to the source of it. A year of being King, and he still was on the lookout for anything strange in Cair Paravel. Like giggling housekeepers.

Peter had thought, no doubt, that all he had to do was defeat the witch and all would be well. Warring factions in the diverse packs that made up Narnia's powerful clans, however, had proven him wrong. They'd needed help from all of them to drive out the last of the Witch's army and unite the lands together: Susan, the sleek silver Wolf Queen; Lucy Lion-Hearted, the beloved lady of the pride; and Edmund, Prince of the Panthers and swift as he was just. They'd been promised an equal throne in return for their alliance, when it was all over. It had taken years, but finally, finally...

Edmund's heavy black brows lowered and he stalked over to the source of the sound. The man's mane of golden hair proclaimed him one of the pride, even if those golden eyes hadn't given him away, while his uniform proclaimed him of the Cair Paravel house. "Steward," he said in a clipped, accented tenor. "I am in need of a good laugh. Please share what has amused you so." His dark stare dared Al to say he'd been laughing at the Panther King. The Panthers, like the Wolves, were still not much liked by many of the other Narnians who considered themselves more, well, wholesome. Even though Edmund had forsaken the Witch's cause long, long ago.

From:

ironysoul

Al hadn't realized he wasn't alone. Careless, that's what it was -- what if someone had stormed the castle? (He'd probably have noticed that.)

And then he realized whose dark eyes were staring him down. Al turned bright red, looking down at his hands.

But at least Edmund -- King Edmund -- had asked him a question. He had to answer, even if the only answer he had to give him was a little ridiculous.

"Dusting the vases with my tail, Sire."

Extremely ridiculous.

From:

just_edmund

Probably - sieges were usually pretty noticeable - but Edmund was used to stalking silently through forests and hallways alike. His life had depended on it more than once.

What a shy, easily embarrassed steward! But he'd told the truth, Edmund could tell, and that fact alone dissolved the annoyance lingering after the frustrating conference with the other sovereigns and their advisors. He appreciated when people told the truth.

A tail to swish would be nice right about now. He didn't care what Peter said, he'd change when he damn well wanted to. Like right now. Edmund slid into his Panther form with an elegant shimmy of forepaws to step out of his clothes - he'd pick those up laters - and gave a contented swish of his long black tail. "Oh really?" His voice sounded duskier, raspier in this form, but the same dry sensibility was behind it.

He padded over to a side-table in the hallway and ran the tip of his tail along its edge. It came up with hardly a trace of dust - the stewards here did their work well - and he held up for Al's inspection. "Seems to work just fine." Was that...a sparkle of humour in those night-dark eyes?

From:

ironysoul

"Well, for a panther."

The words were out before he could stop them. Al turned even more red, almost dropping his rag in a rush to cover his mouth. Why was he saying these things? King Edmund could easily have him banished from the castle, or worse, if Al pissed him off. And he'd be right to. Al hardly thought King Peter would intervene, not after he heard how badly a member of his pride was behaving. But there was something about seeing Edmund in his fur-form, sleek and shadowed, but absolutely lovely. And hearing his voice, wry and dark. It was making Al behave inexcusably.

"I'm sorry, Majesty, I just meant -- Lions' tails have --" helplessly, he mimed the puff of fur he meant, then decided he was really only making things worse. Better to be quiet.

From:

just_edmund

Edmund stared, giving a slow blink. It was usually an effective move when he was in Panther form, that cool dark stare punctuated by curiously long eyelashes shuttering and unshuttering. And then... a low, rumbling chuckle as the pert comment tickled his fancy. Al said it so sweetly, there was hardly any bite to it anyways. And yet this shy steward was not intimidated by Edmund's own toothy sense of humour. There was something very intriguing about that combination.

He stalked back to Al, eyeing him up and down, searching for a name from his memory. There were so many in the palace, but he was sure he'd seen this one in Peter's pack before. Ambrose...Adonis...no, not quite right...

"Alphonse," he came up with, finally, padding straight up to the stammering man. His black tail swished gently against the steward's legs. "If you think Lions can do it so much better..." He gave a gleaming grin full of teeth. "Prove it." He wanted to see this Alphonse in his true form, and a dare was just one way to manage it.

From:

ironysoul

Al froze up, shocked for a moment that Edmund knew his name. It shouldn't have been much of a surprise. His brother, after all, was well known around the castle. Not always for the best reasons. But Al was used to living in his brother's shadow, and escaping notice.

He blushed, ducking his head and curling his fingers around the rag he was holding. "King Peter -- your brother -- he prefers us to change at the same time."

It's not completely unreasonable. But after a hundred years, Al chafed at the restraint. (Even if he wouldn't say as much to Edmund).

From:

just_edmund

Back to shy again! Edmund snorted, shaking his head, the sleek black fur barely moving. In his Panther form, he was even more keen to the steward's body language and how it was so - not subservient, that wasn't quite it. Wanting to escape attention. Which was something Edmund wasn't about to let him do.

At the very mention of his kingly brother, a very faint grow rose in his throat. Peter and his asinine rules. Pride mentality, more like herd mentality. It was just like a Lion to declare that they must all change or none of them would. Panthers knew better. They might hunt in packs sometimes, but more often than not they would stalk a lone path that let them move with the utmost of speed and independence.

Edmund turned, letting the lean curves of his back and side press against Al's legs this time. It was brief, but the message was clear. This was his castle too, not just Peter's, and Al was just as much one of his stewards and subjects as he was a member of Peter's pride. "And I prefer you to change whenever the occasion suits. Such as, oh, needing a tail to replace your missing duster."

Arching his neck up, he took the rag sticking out of Al's hand between his teeth and gave it a sharp tug, delicately avoiding any brush with Al's skin. Then he sat back on his haunches and dropped the rag between his front paws. Time to stare hard at Al and see how he would respond to the challenge.

From:

ironysoul

Al gave a small, helpless smile as Edmund stole the rag from him, letting it slip from his fingers without much of a fight. He knew how a fame of tug with a panther was likely to end. (Not well for him.)

"King Edmund, please." Aside from Peter's restrictions, Al had his own reasons for being reluctant to change. His cat form, as comfortable as he was in it, was... large. Maybe Al didn't read as an alpha, the way he seemed to be subduing himself. Edmund had already noticed that. but it was awkwardly obvious in his fur-form, when he towered over everyone around here.

"You know I could go get another rag...."

From:

just_edmund

A game of tug was likely to end with a Panther sitting smugly on top of him, paws on his chest and rag triumphantly in his teeth. Edmund almost was sorry to lose the fun of the tussle. Scratch that, he was definitely sorry.

"Please what?" He tilted his head slightly at Al, ears perked. What was the steward hiding? What was making him so coy about this? "If you go fetch another, I shall simply steal that one too, and the next, and Susan will sew me a cape of rags and I will tell all the other stewards that you are the reason why there are no more rags to be had."

His eyes were twinkling with gleams of mischief in them, for in spite of his prowling reputation, there was nothing Edmund liked so much as a good prank. Alphonse seemed so very easy.

He looped a turn about, rubbing his other flank against one of Al's thighs. "If it's Peter you're afraid of...I can offer you my protection. Which is nothing to sneeze at, you know." His head popped up under Al's now-empty hand. "He can't punish you for changing when I specifically asked for it."