A/N: This story explores the idea of a conflicting love interest between Peter and Edmund. Their relationship is so deeply bonded that betrayal seems ludicrous, so I decided to write up a scenario that would explain what sort of circumstances could lead to such an act. And yes, I know Lily is one of the most generic OC names ever, but I didn't pick it - it was pulled from the song "Lily's Eyes" from the musical adaption of The Secret Garden.

Disclaimer: Locales and characters original to The Chronicles of Narnia are trademarks of C.S. Lewis Pte. Ltd. This story was fan-written for no profit and no infringement is intended.


1. Prologue

"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself
constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.
"

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Rain was falling steadily outside. Edmund stood near the window, watching intently. This dull occupation, while slightly more entertaining than twiddling his thumbs, was beginning to wear on him. Why had he come to this party anyway? Ah, yes. It had been at his brother's insistence, with the argument that what better way to prepare for entering University next year than making new acquaintances? He had reluctantly agreed, and had come to regret it within thirty minutes of arriving. After being introduced to the hostess, Janet, and several more of Peter's friends, there was little else to do. Edmund was not very outgoing and did not make friends easily, and to be at a party where he didn't know anyone was a tad more than uncomfortable.

He glanced over at the other end of the room, where Peter was sitting with his friends. He was at the middle of the group and seemed to be telling some tale to the others. That was Peter; people gravitated around him even here. Edmund sighed. He knew his brother had meant well, but he was having less than an enjoyable time. Twice he had been called over to join them, but it didn't interest him in the least to be an outsider in conversation, the one person to whom all the jokes must be explained.

Instead, Edmund studied the window and the rain. The thunder and occasional flash of lighting almost seemed a slight mockery. If it wasn't for the storm they could have left hours ago, but they both knew better than to chance taking the car out when it was raining this hard. Earlier, lighting had struck a tree at the corner of the street, and the resulting tangled wires ended in an electric power loss. Lit only by candles and an electric torch or two, the tone of party had mellowed down, and people had dispersed into smaller groups to continue their conversations quietly.

He had wished to avoid it tonight, but in the strange quiet and with nothing else to engage his thoughts, his mind wandered to Narnia. Edmund did not recall it as it was now, ruled by Caspian's descendants, but as both a place and time forbidden to him: the Narnia he had known in his first lifetime, with its wild forests, rolling hills and deep blue mountains. Then, he had been a king; not some lonely outcast at a gathering but the gracious and merry host. His beloved land with its rolling green hills and deep blue mountains, talking animals, satyrs, centaurs, and all the rest. Edmund remembered festivals and the feasts, grand tournaments and glorious battles. Most of all, though, he thought of her.

Her name was Lily. He had loved her from the very beginning, from the minute he met her all those years ago. She was the image of perfection; an intelligent, breathtaking beauty. How he had longed for her, watched her and wished for her in secret! And even though she was sworn to another, he had broken faith with that which he loved and honoured most, and they had rushed to each other in unspent passion.

It was only now that he remembered it. Before he had he missed her as the dearest friend, for without the body of his twenty-four-year-old self, his mind had become like that of a child over again, and he forgot what it was to be a man. It was only after he had been told he was too old to return that he was old enough to remember. He woke at night from fevered dreams, reaching out to hold her body that was not there, swearing that he heard her breath in his ear. And later, he would lie awake and remember that in Narnia she was long dead, wonder what had become of her, and hope that she knew he would never have left if he had known it meant leaving her forever.

--

Peter finished his story, unsurprised at the laughter it prompted. The tale of his graceful slip on wet pavement, falling backward onto an Ancient History professor (who himself was very ancient) and scattering papers in six directions was always a popular request at parties. More popular were the others' laughter when they remembered the ornery professor's unusual punishment: in addition to picking up and sorting out the papers, he was made to stand outside for the rest of afternoon warning everyone who passed of the potential danger.

He settled back into the sofa, happy to just enjoy the company of those around him. Ordinary people, ordinary laughter. Peter had few experiences like this. The best of his memories were tainted by very great sorrow; but that, of course, was to be expected. He spotted Edmund out of the corner of his eye and felt a damper on his spirits. Sitting in the corner, moody and withdrawn, not talking to anyone. But Edmund was always that way – he stayed away from parties and friends, and in a large group he always seemed the textbook example of anti-social.

It was exactly the reason he had pushed so hard for Edmund to come out in the first place. He had barely any friends, and the ones he did have were never around all too often. What was he going to do when he got to University next year, where he wouldn't know anyone? Truthfully, Peter was worried about Edmund. They were getting older, and this was not how Peter had remembered it going the first time. In Narnia, Edmund had been confident and cheerful. He was even rowdier at parties; they both were. But this eighteen-year-old Edmund was serious as he had become in the last years of their reign.

As he continued to watch, only half-listening to the conversation, a young girl walked up to Edmund and began to chat with him. She had dark curly hair, and gestured with her hands when spoke. He tapped his friend Charlie on the shoulder and asked who she was.

"That's Mary, Janet's friend. I think she's a year ahead of us at school."

With a nod that bounced every curl on her head, she walked away to talk to the people bunched around the stairs. When his gaze moved back to Edmund, Peter was unnerved by expression on his face. His mouth was hanging open slightly, and his eyebrows were raised with the look of a man who had seen a ghost. Suddenly, his face shifted into an expression Peter hadn't seen Edmund wear in years, when it had been mature even for a man in his twenties. His brow was narrowed in thought, a mixture of guilt and yearning and mystery only just decipherable behind it. His mouth was set like it was during battle, steeled against some unnamed challenge. That look. . . He had worn it before, borne the same unknown burden before, and Peter's memories almost seemed to fly before him, returning to the days when he reigned over his brother and sisters as High King.

--

Edmund was so immersed in his thoughts that he jumped when he felt a touch on his shoulder.

"Why are you here all by yourself?" said a voice behind him. He turned.

It was a girl. Edmund rose to his feet, starting to speak. "I – ah – just thinking –"

The words caught in his throat. He stood there dumbly, unable to do anything but stare at her. She looked to be a few years older than the age he appeared; curly black hair framed her face and she wore a politely puzzled smile. Clearly, she was hoping for some kind of response.

But Edmund was aghast. He tried to speak, but his tongue refused to obey him. In vain he struggled to get his wits about him – his mind was numb, dazed with disbelief and longing. The seconds lengthened but still he could only stare, his mouth agape in bewilderment.

She had Lily's eyes.

Deep brown ringed in striking green, all shot through with gold. They flickered the candlelight, an aching familiarity. Edmund's insides wriggled unpleasantly. This is too strange, said the small part of his mind that wasn't arrested by the sight before him. For me to be thinking of her, and now this girl. . . He wrung his clammy hands.

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to think clearly. "I'm Edmund."

"Mary," she replied. She looked relieved that he had finally spoken. "I'm just telling everyone that they've got the fire going in the other room. We've got a tin of cocoa and one of tea, and biscuits. . ."

He flicked his own eyes toward Peter on the sofa, feeling the perpetual guilt squeeze in his chest, and returned them quickly to her face.

". . . and a few people were thinking of singing, you know, to cheer up the gloom of all this rain," she was saying.

It took him a moment to realise she had stopped talking. "Thanks," he said. "I – ah – might join you later."

She was staring at him curiously. "Are you all right?" she asked in a concerned voice.

My face! It's showing on my face! Edmund quickly tried to compose his features, but it was a vain attempt and he knew it. He could never withstand beneath that gaze, even here.

"Fine – I'm fine – thanks - I'll see you later, then?"

She gave him an encouraging smile. Edmund detected a stab of pity – she seemed to have decided that he was only painfully shy. With a swish of her hair, Mary was gone.

--

A few minutes later the girl called Mary had made her way over to their sofa. "Hello everyone," she began.

Peter felt his jaw drop. Rich hazel shimmered before him. Those eyes. . . they were her eyes. The wide, unmistakable eyes that had known him so well. Eyes that he had fallen into so often; that drew him into their own private place where the trials and duties of his crown were left far behind.

He only caught a few of her words here and there. He heard "food," and "cocoa," and "fireplace," but they barely registered. He could not tear his eyes away from hers. They were the very same. She had Lily's eyes.

Lily. This Mary was nothing like her but for the eyes. His vision turned inward, and he recalled the curve of her mouth, the rich brown of her hair, the crinkled corners of her eyes when she was smiling. Beautiful, of course, but much more than only that. She was warmth and light. . . the comfort of his secret heart. And the way she spoke! A softness which invited confidence and embrace. Peter had been proud to vow to love her. He, who had never for a second considered taking a wife (although his countrymen desired it), had become husband to the most beautiful woman in the world. Contentment like – like he had never even imagined it.

Then they had been ripped from their world without warning. Had he known there would not be a good-bye, that the kiss that morning would be their last – he stopped himself. This was not the place to be thinking of it. She was dead a thousand years in the place he could not return to anyway. . . At night he woke covered in sweat, whispering her name into the darkness, hoping against hope that she could somehow hear him.

Now he understood what Edmund's look had been about. Peter was fairly sure he was now sporting the same one. Those eyes, those very eyes. . . Mary tilted her head as spoke, the hazel glinted in the little light. Peter was unable to look away. He could feel himself falling into them now, falling into himself, into his past. His shoulders straightened unconsciously. The story, at such an ill time, was coming before him like a living picture. As the room began to fade out and into his memories, he glanced at Edmund, hoping to communicate silently the wonder of this marvel. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and then Edmund looked away.

--

So that was it. Peter had seen them too, there was no denying it. Edmund knew exactly was running through Peter's mind now – the likeness was too identical to pass over. And though they never spoke of it, Edmund knew that Peter thought of her often. Of course he would: Peter was a man of pure heart, the most faithful lover even here. A fact that burdened Edmund over again, but it was only right. Her eyes held them both in a spell that extended far beyond the boundary of worlds. At night she haunted their dreams; when Peter came home from school and they had to share a room again, Edmund was awake to hear him call her name in turns of fitful sleep.

She was everything to him. To them both. Mary's eyes, so much like hers, had made his memories swim before him. The smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, and the wild, rash decision that had brought him into a happiness of which he would never speak and condemned him to live forever with the secret that consumed him.

The room and the party had vanished, melted away in the rain. His memories swirled around him like a breeze off the sunlit sea.

He could see her before him as clearly as the day he had met her.


A/N: For those of you wondering, this story was indeed inspired by the fabulous TastyAsItGets and her story The High King, the Duchess, and the Secret. It was actually propelled by one of her almost-but-not-quite Edmund cliffhangers, and born of a desire to give the man some action.