Disclaimer:I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C.S. Lewis.

Author's Note: All right, since I've gotten such wonderful reviews for the Prologue of this story, I figured I'd be a nice authoress and post the actual first chapter. On the same day, too:grins: Can't say I wasn't wanting, too, either. So reviewers, this is dedicated to you.

Reviewers: All 14 of you, thank you!

Edmund's Character: I know several of you have been asking after this, and I know many more of you are wondering if he'll still retain some of his "snarkiness," even though he's missing his voice. Never fear, I'll still keep his smart-ass self in there as well as I can. He's found a "voice" as you'll see below. Just not in the conventional sense. I also know you're wondering if he betrays his siblings, even though he can't speak. The answer to that is in the summary—and that's all I'm going to say :winks:. This Edmund, however, is the more thoughtful sort, on account of his being unable to speak. Consequently, he might not react to some situations in the same way as you might imagine. But read on, and see what you think!

Format of Story: No flashbacks as of right now, although I might change that in a later chapter. The only real "flashback" so far is the Prologue, because it sets up the entire premise for the story—keep that in mind! The rest of the story is pretty straightforward, told in the way of both books and movie, along with my own necessary addends. Hope you enjoy!

Aslan and Edmund: :mischievous smile: Wait and see.

"Speech"

/Personal Thoughts/

'Sign Language'

Those Who Speak

By Sentimental Star

Chapter One: The Watcher, the Protector, and the Comforter

(Present Time, Evening)

Ten years of age, lithe, and just starting to grow into his legs, Edmund Pevensie slowly and painfully walked home along the sidewalk.

Although "walking" was a relative term.

It was twilight now. Mum had sent him to the post office to pick up rations coupons.

The Postmaster—a jolly, elderly gentleman—knew of his condition, and so, had been more than willing to help him.

Edmund frowned, even though his muscles protested, face dark. He didn't like thinking of it that way, as a "condition." Made it sound like he had some horrible, incurable disease.

And while (as far as he knew) it was incurable, it certainly was not a disease. Nor was it so horrible anymore, either.

After four years, he had learned to live with it. The first few months after his fever had been awful, but then he had found he could speak with his hands. Sign language, his tutor had called it.

Still, he had found something of a voice again, and he could always write.

Sign language and writing, however, could not keep the bullies away.

Edmund grimaced, very aware of the pain currently shooting through his body—a vivid reminder of the altercation that had occurred a couple of blocks from the Post Office.

When he had emerged from the building, three boys—all older, taller, and bigger than Edmund—had been lurking in the lengthening shadows. They were from his neighborhood, home for the summer holidays from boarding school. He even thought one or two of them went to the same school as his older brother, Peter.

They were of the nasty, brutish sort, and all but one (the leader) were more brawn than brains.

They had followed him, and at an isolated part of the park, had cornered him…and demanded his family's coupons. Edmund, knowing they would not leave without them, had discreetly tucked them away in an inner pocket of his light coat.

There was no way he would have given up those coupons. His family needed them far too much.

The three older boys had taken to taunting him. Jeering at him. And more.

Edmund, of course unable to retort, had only been able to glare hotly back, standing his ground.

The leader had taken his silence as a personal insult, although all three knew quite well why he was unable to speak. They'd lived in Finchley just as long as he and his siblings had.

Consequently, fists had flown, and not necessarily Edmund's.

The three had let off him when a police cab had screamed by, mistaking it for an air raid siren and—

Air raid siren…

Suddenly, Edmund felt quite sure it was neither his imagination nor his memory that was currently causing that same wailing to split the air now.

With a pained grimace, he started walking faster, noticing he was still three blocks from his neighborhood…and the nearest bomb shelter (that he knew of anyway).

Then he heard it—the low whine of aircraft engines in the distance. And explosions. There were explosions. And they were coming nearer.

Suddenly, running did not seem like such a bad idea.

So he ran, sprinting with all his might down the sidewalk and trying desperately to ignore the fiery pain shooting through his body with every quickened step.

The ground trembled and shook as he ran, the airplanes drawing nearer every second, dropping their deadly cargo.

The explosions were coming closer. One nearby abruptly caused the ground to upheave.

With a soundless cry, Edmund was sent staggering forward. His foot collided with a buckled slab of the sidewalk and he went pitching forward, losing his balance. With another cry as the sidewalk rushed up to meet him, he threw his arms up in an attempt to shield his already bruised face. Once panicked thought flashed across his mind: /I'm going to die!/

However, he never made it that far. About halfway into his fall, strong arms suddenly grabbed him around his shoulders. He was given a hard shake, "Ed! What are you doing! We have to get to the shelter!" yelled over the sound of bombs being dropped.

Utterly startled, and momentarily forgetting the state his face was in, Edmund's head jumped up and he gaped at the taller boy in front of him. /Peter!/

His older brother apparently didn't notice the shape he was in, yet. The ten-year-old's hand was seized and he found himself jerked forward. "Come on!"

The tore down the sidewalk in the direction of their home, his thirteen-year-old brother's longer legs eating up the distance as Edmund struggled to keep up.

The bombers drew much nearer, and explosions shattered the evening air. The acrid scent of smoke drifted over the houses, and the entire evening sky lit up with jagged, dangerous light.

They kept running.

Two minutes from their home, the fearful whistling which would haunt Edmund's nightmares for years to come suddenly seemed a great deal closer than he thought safe.

Apparently, Peter did, too.

"Get down!" the older boy cried, flinging them to the ground behind a low hedge and throwing himself over Edmund.

The ten-year-old cried out silently as his abused body hit the ground far harder than he would have liked. And his brother's heavier form on top of him did not help matters any.

Edmund's eyes went wide as his face was pushed into Peter's shoulder. /What's he doing?/ he thought in a panic, shoving ineffectually at his older brother's chest.

Peter remained quite firmly on top of him.

Before his struggles could get anymore frantic, an explosion merely a block over rocked the air. Edmund screamed wordlessly into the thirteen-year-old's shoulder, clutching at his brother's shirt, as rocks and rubble and debris pelted the ground around them.

The sirens kept wailing.

Before he could so much as let out a gasp, Peter leapt to his feet and snatched him off the ground, dashing headlong through their open garden gate and into their house's backyard, still carrying Edmund.

He heard a gasp as he felt Peter glance over his shoulder behind them and start sprinting harder, arrowing for the shelter.

The bombers sounded like they were directly overhead.

"PETER!"

Their mother's yell came from immediately in front of them.

Edmund tried to pull his face away from his older brother's shoulder. Peter wouldn't let him.

There was a sensation of flying. A semi-soft landing. And then the door to the shelter slammed shut.

A match was struck. Against him, Edmund could feel Peter's shoulders and chest heaving. Against his ear, he could hear his older brother's wild heartbeat. His pants for air filled the shelter.

Peter, Edmund realized, was scared.

"What were you doing, lollygagging like that?" the older boy demanded, abruptly pulling back and clearly restraining himself from shaking his younger brother again. "You…you could have gotten killed!"

Edmund scowled in the half-light of the shelter. Grabbing his older brother's hand, he started signing furiously into his palm, 'I was not "lollygagging," Peter! Does "Jamison" clear things up?'

"Jamison" was the leader of the three bullies. Anthony Jamison. He was pretty certain said bully went to Peter's boarding school. His brother, at any rate, knew exactly who he was talking about.

The thirteen-year-old's frightened, angry expression dropped altogether, and his face was flooded with concern as he more closely examined his little brother in the flickering half-light. Gingerly, he touched Edmund's split lip and bruised jaw. "What was it this time? Do you need any ointment or cream? Are you bleeding?" his voice had softened now, and sheer worry had interwoven itself into his words.

Edmund sighed loudly in exasperation and batted away Peter's hands as his older brother went to pull up his shirt and vest, intent on examining his torso. Once more taking the other boy's hand, he slowly and deliberately signed, 'They. Are. Just. Bruises. I. Am. Perfectly. Fine.'

And with that, still rather annoyed, he dropped his brother's hand and stood with a soft huff from where they had apparently landed on one of the mattresses on the floor.

He hissed and gritted his teeth as pain once again shot through his body, causing him to waver slightly on his feet.

Trust Peter to notice.

"Ed?" he asked worriedly, quickly standing to his own and grasping the younger boy's arm.

Edmund cast him a smoldering glare and jerked his arm away, deliberately turning his back and marching over to their mother. On the three second walk from Peter to Mum, a bit of his fury cooled.

Pulling out the rations coupons and handing them over to his mother, he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead to wipe the worried expression off her face before turning and tossing himself down on a nearby bunk, scowling at nothing in particular. Shrugging out of his coat, he chucked it—a little harder than he ought—into the corner of the bed.

By that point he was merely annoyed with his older brother, and very much frustrated with himself.

He knew Peter simply wanted to protect him, and was well aware the older boy felt he ought to protect him most of all, on account of his "condition," but good grief! He wasn't an invalid and was fully capable of taking care of himself if he had to!

Edmund's scowl twisted into a darker one. It wasn't fair! He may have learned to live with it, but under no circumstances did he have to be happy about it!

"Edmund?" there was a whisper at his elbow and a small prod in his side. "Edmund!" hissed. "Come on, scoot over." There was another prod.

In spite of his current mood, Edmund couldn't help the grin that dramatically transformed his face. /Lucy/ he thought happily. Trust his little sister to come just at the right moment.

Gladly, he pushed closer to the wall, making room for her in his bunk beside him.

He looked up at her as she climbed in, his grin widening. Lucy returned it as she happily settled beside him, taking his hand.

All his siblings had learned to sign, so they might understand him. Lucy had picked it up the quickest, and was often the only one to use it. Peter sometimes signed back, but mostly chose to speak aloud, instead. Susan never signed back. She always spoke.

And Edmund didn't mind. Usually. But it was nice when his siblings communicated with him in the only way that was available to him (because writing during a conversation really wasn't very practical).

Edmund's smile dropped and turned into a frown as his thoughts returned to his older brother. He was still annoyed with Peter.

'What's wrong?' Lucy signed into his hand, jolting him back to the present, noticing his change in mood.

The ten-year-old sighed softly and signed back, 'I could just about murder Peter.'

The younger girl giggled quietly, then looked thoughtful. 'He was just scared, Eddy. You didn't see his face when Mummy told him you went to get the coupons. She didn't want him to leave, but he left anyway, even when she yelled at him to come back.'

Edmund thought that now probably wasn't the time to tell his younger sister that wasn't it. But, as he reflected further on her words, he realized he was more than just annoyed with Peter for being overprotective. His older brother had quite clearly shown that he would rather be hurt instead of Edmund. Hadn't he proven that when they were running from the fighters?

Had things gone even more wrong, he realized with a lurch of his stomach, Peter could have died.

Suddenly, he couldn't be quite so angry anymore.

Reluctantly, he glanced over Lucy's head at their older brother who was sitting next to Susan across the shelter floor in the girls' bunk. His hands were clasped together underneath his knees which had been pulled to his chest, and he was watching Edmund with what could only be described as hurt in his eyes.

Abruptly, he noticed the younger boy looking at him and, eyes widening, he quickly glanced down, pretending to read Susan's book over her shoulder.

Edmund lightly bit his lip and looked away, feeling rather guilty.

He had to smile, however, when he noticed Lucy giving a small yawn and snuggling closer to him.

Managing a fond chuckle, he gently smoothed her hair and signed, 'How is it you can always make everything better?'

Lucy grinned sleepily and slowly signed back, eyes starting to flutter shut, 'You…You're welcome.'

Chuckling again, Edmund gave her forehead a warm kiss before tenderly settling an arm around her shoulders. The eight-year-old sighed contently and snuggled into his chest.

A few minutes later, she had fallen asleep, leaving him to his thoughts.

Those thoughts mostly revolved around Peter.

He supposed he should be grateful that his older brother cared enough about him that he would be willing to die for him. But right now, he felt rather scared at the thought.

As much as he might be unhappy with Peter's mollycoddling, it had worked. The older boy saw it as his responsibility to protect his siblings, and well, Edmund saw him as a protector. Just the same as he saw Lucy as a comforter.

That was his job. He was the watcher.

He noticed things that his siblings didn't necessarily want him to. He knew when Peter was uncertain, when Susan felt vulnerable, when Lucy was frightened, and a great deal more besides. He knew when Mother cried, or when Peter tried to hide that he had been injured. He knew when Lucy had been bullied or Susan spent hours in their father's study.

These things he knew, because being unable to speak, he had taken to observing, watching those most central to his life.

Little hints, things they were not necessarily aware of themselves, tipped him off. So he comforted Lucy, made sure Peter treated his injuries, got Susan a cup of tea and sat with her, or ensured Mother rested.

That was his job.

As things quieted down in the shelter—Susan putting away her book, Mum turning down the kerosene lamp—Edmund felt sleep beginning to creep up on him.

He must have almost fallen asleep when a soft sound broke the silence of the shelter and intruded into his hazing thoughts.

Sleepily, he propped himself up on one elbow and first glanced to Lucy. She was sound asleep beside him in the bunk, hand curled underneath her cheek, and the tiniest of smiles gracing her lips.

Edmund grinned slightly, before raising his head to track a path across the shelter floor.

Peter was still awake, sitting up beside Susan who had since lain down and fallen asleep herself. He hugged his knees to his chest, gazing off disconsolately into the distance.

To Edmund, he looked terribly forlorn and lonely. A single tear suddenly sparkled in the dim light and slid down his cheek.

The ten-year-old caught in his breath. /Did I…/

Peter sniffed quietly, brushing at his cheeks as several more tears slid down to sparkle in the dim light.

Edmund bit his lip again. /Peter…/

Carefully, he crept over Lucy and, swinging his legs over the bunk's side, slipped lightly to his feet.

Turning, he made sure the blankets were tucked snugly around his little sister before he slowly and near-silently made his way across the shelter to Peter.

He froze about three-quarters of the way across the floor as his older brother gave another sniff, then dropped his head against his knees, his grip on them tightening briefly.

By this point, Edmund was aware of the distinct lump in his throat. Forcing himself to move, he quietly padded the rest of the distance to Peter.

Either his stealth skills had improved or Peter was too upset to notice, but his brother made no indication he detected Edmund's movement.

So when the ten-year-old knelt in front of him and lightly touched his wrist, the older boy barely managed to smother a startled yelp, tumbling backwards onto his elbows.

Surprised, he quickly looked up…before hurriedly scrubbing his tears away. "Ed," he managed, voice cracking, as he immediately sat up again.

His younger brother kept worrying his bottom lip. Gently taking Peter's hand, Edmund signed, 'I'm sorry.'

Peter blinked at him rapidly for a few seconds, before signing back haltingly, 'It's…it's all right. It wasn't…your fault. I…was just upset, Ed. I want to protect you…is all.'

'I'm fine, Peter,' the other boy signed in reply, a small smile gracing his lips.

The thirteen-year-old lightly squeezed his hand, giving his own—somewhat faint—smile. "I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

Edmund's smile grew and, reaching up, he reassuringly patted his brother's cheek, eliciting a reluctant chuckle from the older boy.

The younger took Peter's hand again, signing, 'Will you come sleep now?'

"What do you mean, 'come'?" the older boy whispered.

Edmund rolled his eyes, tugging insistently at his brother's hand as he stood again. Bewildered, Peter followed suite, ducking low to avoid bashing his forehead against the bunk he and Susan had been sitting under.

The ten-year-old gently dragged Peter back over to the bunk where Lucy lay, still sleeping. Once they reached it, he released the older boy's hand and clambered into the bunk beside their younger sister, carefully shifting her closer to the wall. Laying down next to her, he put his arms gently around her waist and, turning slightly, shot an expectant look up at their older brother.

Peter, where he stood, started a bit before chuckling softly, "All right, Ed, all right." Gingerly, he slipped in underneath the covers beside Edmund and draped his arms over the two youngest.

The ten-year-old gave him a brilliant, albeit sleepy smile, and turned his head back to Lucy. A few minutes later, Edmund's breathing started evening out. Just before he fell asleep, the younger boy felt fingers play across his back. It took him a moment, but he finally recognized that his brother was signing, 'Good night, Ed.'

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

Helen Pevensie smiled wearily as her two sons at last drifted off. Standing from where she had been sitting against the wall of the shelter, she set aside her needle and the shirt she had been mending. Quietly, she made her rounds to check on her children, giving each a kiss on the forehead. Then she settled down in the bunk next to her oldest daughter, smile fading as she fell into an exhausted slumber.

Tbc.