Within a month, there are whispers about King Edmund floating around Cair Paravel. Not the ones about the White Witch and her special pet who sold out his family for sweets, though those whispers hang around until the very last days of his reign; these were whispers of an entirely different nature.

King Edmund is called the Just long before Susan is called the Gentle. Lucy doesn't become the Valiant Queen until she's at sixteen, and Peter isn't Magnificent until the very end of their reign. But Edmund is the Just within a month of their coronation.

It starts with the trial of all the captured soldiers on the Witch's side two weeks after Aslan leaves. Peter squirms uncomfortably in his throne as he listens to their testimonies and the advice of Narnia elders. Edmund is only nine, but he sits still and grim. He lets it all sink in, and when they're finally alone, Peter turns to his brother and asks, "What are we to do, Ed?"

Edmund bites his lip and thinks about it for a moment. He thinks of Aslan's golden mane and velvet paws, of his ferocious roaring voice, and his rough tongue against Edmund's face. Edmund sighs. "Those who acted or spoke violently towards us ought to be exiled," he says at last. "The rest should be released."

"And if they prove to be treacherous?"

"It's surprising what an act of mercy does to a person," Edmund says. "And, make it clear that there will be no second trial, should they try and turn against us."

The decision doesn't make either of them very popular at first. Edmund is thought to be sympathizing with the enemy, but he keeps his head held high, and he tries not to listen to the scathing rumors and whispers that follow him down the halls. Eventually, the Narnians stop criticizing him and start praising him. "That's a boy who learns," they say. "A true follower of Aslan."

A month and a half into their reign, they get wind of a group of the Witch's loyal supporters rising up in the deep, wild parts of the Lantern Waste. Peter and Edmund head out with one hundred men at once. Peter wants to take more, but Edmund is very firm on this matter. He doesn't know why, but he tells Peter that he has a bad feeling. One hundred soldiers is a lot of men, and if they take more, they could be seen as threatening innocent Narnians for their past mistakes. Peter scoffs at the idea that a group of rebels in the wildest parts of Narnia could be innocent, but he agrees on one hundred. They leave early on a Sunday morning, before the sun is up. On Tuesday afternoon, Peter and Edmund meet one-hundred-and-fifty Fell Beasts in battle.

The battle is not out in the open, as their first battle had been, but among the densest trees. Peter and Edmund's one hundred Narnians are not prepared for the Beasts' attack in the woods, and these rebels don't fight fair. The battle carries on well into the night, and Peter says they have to pull out. Edmund thinks there is no chance of escape.

"I wanted to bring more men," Peter reminds Edmund bitingly, and it's all Edmund can do to stop from getting at it with Peter. It's early Friday morning and they're in their tent. There's about three or four of these tents clustered tightly together surrounded by a tiny, hurriedly made wall. It's not doing as such a great job keeping enemies out as they had hoped, and no one has had much more than six hours of sleep total in the past couple of days. Edmund won't be ten for another three weeks and he's running on two hours of sleep, and Peter is glaring at him like he used to, back in England when Edmund did something to upset Mum. Edmund is s sore and miserable, and he knows he made a mistake insisting that less was more, and he has no right getting angry at Peter at a time like this, but he can't help.

He also can't help thinking they won't escape if they retreat now. They'll be in more danger, he knows it.

"We can't go on like this, Ed," Peter insists. "We have to get out of here."

"We'll all be killed, Peter. Aren't you listening?"

"We'll all be killed if we stay, Edmund!" Peter says. He raises his voice a little, and he called Edmund by his full name."Edmund," not just "Ed." Two whole syllables. Peter is tired too, and people keep asking him questions. Everyone is turning to their kings to find out what their next course of action will be. Especially since the last wave of attacks. Last night, the Fell Beasts got a hold of a huge chunk of their rations. No one is coming until Sunday at the earliest. They'll come with more men and more supplies, but they haven't been able to get word to Cair that they need reinforcements now. All the messengers have been eaten. Edmund thinks they can stick it out. Peter doesn't think they'll last that long. He hasn't given anyone an answer, and it's a bad thing to lose the faith of the people a month and a half into ones reign. "We have to try to get out of this wood, at least. Draw them out into the open." He drags a tired hand over his tired face and stares at the map of Narnia unfurled in front of his feet.

"They'll pick us off in a retreat, Peter. If we move, they'll trap us," Edmund tells him.

"We're trapped now!"

"Peter, listen to me!"

"Why?"he asks. "How do you know?" Peter throws his hands up in the air.

"What?"

"How do you know that's what's going to happen, Ed?" Peter demands. "How do you know that they'll ambush us in a retreat?"

"Because…" Edmund stutters. "I –I don't know! It's just a feeling." Edmund's turning very red, and he doesn't know if it's from anger or frustration or embarrassment.

Peter laughs, short, sharp, unfriendly, and Edmund can feel his own defenses going up. Blood pounds through his head and his throat tightens up. He clenches his fists and bites his lip so hard he breaks the skin and tastes his own blood in his mouth. "A feeling?" Peter laughs again. "God, Edmund, it's because you had a feeling why we're stuck out here in the first place. It's because of your feelings that these creatures aren't dead. Dammit, Ed, it's a feeling why you went over and left us for the Witch in the first place!"

There's only two other people with them –the centaur, Orieus, and a panther named Inad. They both grow very still and the air stops circulating in the tent right at the end of Peter's last word. It seems like hours before Inad says in her deep, velvety voice, "General Orieus, the sun is nearly up," and slinks out of the tent to attend to her duties. It's even longer before Orieus stamps a hoof and leaves them alone.

Neither of them have much to say now. They're stuck in a familiar dance and neither of them wants to be the one to bow out first. But Edmund's much younger and much more tired than Peter, and he's been think the same thing since the first attack two and a half days ago. He feels like crying but he's not going to. He feels screaming and hitting and punching but he's not going to do that either.

"That's not fair, Peter," he says after some time. "That's so unfair."

"I'm not being fair, Edmund," Peter says. It's his whole name again, two syllables, three times in one conversation. Peter's mad at him. Peter's really mad at him, and try as he might, Edmund can feel himself getting angry too. "People are dying because of your calls! When is it going to stop?"

"You asked for my help!" Edmund sputters. "You asked me! It's not fair!"

"Yeah, well, being fair is your department isn't it, Edmund?" Peter's drawing himself up to his full height in a way Edmund can't stand, that takes Edmund back to England and the air raids and before he met Aslan. His chest constricts. "Those nice things all the Narnians say about you, if we make it out of here alive, they won't be saying them in anymore." Edmund's eyes begin to sting and his face twists into a nasty scowl, but Peter ignores him. "We're leaving at midday, and that's final. Get some sleep if you can."

Peter leaves the tent, the canvas flapping angrily after him.