Fairytale?

Chapter 4- Self-Deprecating Enough

For the breeze sweeps over the down;
And it's hey for a game where the gorse blossoms flame,
And the bracken is bronzing to brown
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(warning: sexual content)
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Edmund was nervous.

He didn't often get nervous, but the very first game as a full fledged player on the rugby team would be nerve-wracking for even the most confident person in any world.

His first game had been supposed to be in December, and not the first week of February, exactly two weeks after his wife's birthday- but there had been such torrential rain for most of December and the first half of January that it had been impossible to even step on the field without slipping and falling down.

But now, as the rain had halted and the cold weather had solidified the grass- the field was walkable again, and thus playable.

"You alright, E- Pevensie?" Oscar asked, glancing at his pale teammate, who had staring ahead at the field for three whole minutes. He didn't think he'd even blinked. "Hullo- earth to Pevensie?"

Edmund blinked, and turned to find the tall sixth-former laughing at him. He'd never properly looked at his face before- his eyes were a very odd colour. They were grey and brown and green all at once.
Nervousness made him notice the strangest things.
"Oh, shove off." He muttered, his cheeks red. "Are you telling me you were fine before your first match?"

"'Course not. I puked on the ball, and they had to get another one from the rival team." He shrugged, and pushed away the strands of caramel-brown hair that had fallen into his face. "But this isn't your first match, Ed, you've played a couple of times before."

"Yeah, as reserve."
There was far more of a difference between being reserve and being a player, than there was between being a King and a High King. The former came with a lot more anxiety, for one.
"Not as an actual player."

"Same thing. You go out, you try to work with the team and get the ball through the goal. You'll do great, alright, mate? Just because you don't have to borrow a jersey anymore, doesn't mean anything's- yes, sir? Coming!" He broke off, moving away as the games master, who had been peering at his clipboard, called his name.

"Quite a pep talk." Edmund sighed to himself, before turning his gaze away from the field and to the stands, which were already filling. He couldn't make out anyone from this far, though- he was standing at the doorway of the locker-room- but he could see a fair few Finbar uniforms. His sisters would be there- and Sanya would be, too.
She'd informed him she preferred rugby to cricket, much to Peter's ire, which probably meant she liked the sport.

She told him all the time that he was a good player- and he wasn't self-deprecating enough to think she was lying.

But being good didn't mean he deserved to be on the team.

Imagine if he was the reason they lost! The Just King of Narnia, the Duke of Lantern Waste, the Count of the Western March, a Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, and the Rihaayan High Queen's Consort- losing a simple game of sports.

"Let's go, mate." John slapped him on the back minutes later, as the rest of the team came trotting out, ready to play.

They began to walk out, together, onto the field, to applause from the stands. The stadium was not large and the crowd wasn't as big as it could get during the final games- but their enthusiasm knew no bounds.

"Let's give those fine Finbar fillies something to cheer for."

"They're not horses-" Edmund began, quite affronted by his choice of words- horses were marvellous creatures, but he could tell that that was not the reason that John had called them so.