Chapter Two;

The four Pevensie children spilled into the hallway of their home, rubbing together chilled hands as coats were shrugged off and hung up.

"Oh, good, children you're home, I…Peter! What happened to your face?" Helen Pevensie immediately went to her eldest son, her face full of concern, eyes crinkled with worry as she raised a hand gingerly to hover over the swollen bruise on Peter's jaw.

Susan arched an expectant brow at Peter, nodding meaningfully towards their mother.

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip nervously as Edmund watched the proceedings warily.

Peter looked over his mother's shoulder at his evidently waiting and expectant siblings.

Peter clenched his jaw tightly ignoring the twinge of tender pain at the action as he narrowed his eyes at them.

He hated being cornered into anything; he was a King and as such would make his decisions on when to take action when he saw fit.

But Peter read the look of Susan's face; if he didn't tell their mother now, she would.

Peter glared darkly at her before returning his gaze back to their mother.

"Mum, I have got something to tell you," Peter began slowly and reluctantly.

Susan scoffed irascibly as she rolled her eyes.

Their mother glanced over her shoulder, taking in the tense poses of her three younger children before looking warily to Peter once more, a dreaded suspicion in her eyes.

"Come on Susan, Lu," Edmund called pointedly, holding the door to the living room open and gesturing for his sisters to go on in.

Susan hesitated for a moment before relenting, clearly washing her hands of the situation; it was Peter's problem now.

Lucy followed her after flashing Peter a troubled smile.

Edmund nodded once in acknowledgement to Peter's grateful look before he too turned and went into the living room, shutting the door after him.

Helen Pevensie looked up to her son, waiting reluctantly for what she now knew was coming.

"Mum…I got into a fight today at school," Peter confessed quietly, his gaze trained on the small stretch of ground between them.

Helen sighed heavily, and no sound made Peter feel guiltier.

"Peter…" she began tiredly. "I've told you time and time again to just ignore them."

Peter shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly for a silent moment before he took a deep breath, glancing up to make sure she was ready for the rest.

"Mr Wilson caught me fighting…"

"Lieutenant Wilson you mean?" his mother interrupted.

"Yes," Peter confirmed less than enthusiastically.

"Oh Peter!" Helen exclaimed, "Lieutenant Wilson is such a good man!"

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course, it was straight to Headmaster Andrews office…" Peter looked up, pausing for a considerable moment.

Helen Pevensie nodded, encouraging him to finish his tale.

"Go on Peter," she urged.

Peter sighed. "He suspended me indefinitely."

Helen Pevensie's eyes closed as she let out a long wavering breath. "Oh Peter, what have you done?" she breathed quietly.

She sighed. "Who was it this time?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "James Berrington," he grumbled under his breath.

His mother's frown deepened considerably when she heard the name. "Again?" she questioned sternly; though it was more a statement than a question.

It was Peter's turn to sigh. "Mum you don't understand – he provoked me!"

"No, you're right – I don't understand Peter. I don't understand why my intelligent, young son seems to do nothing but fight these days!" His mother's voice wavered and when Peter looked up he could see the unshed tears swimming in his mother's eyes.

"Mum…" Peter began softly.

"No Peter! Now you will go over to the Berrington's house and you will apologise to James and put this silly feud to bed once and for all!"

"What? Mum – you…you can't be serious!?"

"Peter Pevensie I am deadly serious. Now…" Helen Pevensie's hand shot out as she seized the collar of his once crisp white shirt, now dirtied and spotted with blood; James' after Peter had most likely knocked out one of his teeth.

"Change your clothes and then you are to go straight over to the Berrington's house and apologise to James."

Peter stared at his mother agape. Go – to the Berrington's house; apologise to James!

"But mum," Peter gave an incredulous laugh that held no humour, "I did nothing wrong!"

"I don't care Peter. I want this fighting to stop once and for all. You will go over to the Berrington's – and you will apologise to James. Am I understood young man?" His mother's tone was one of the sternest she had ever used with him, a fierce light in her eyes.

Peter ground his teeth together, his shoulders and back completely rigid. "Yes," Peter ground the word out with a lot of difficulty.

Helen Pevensie sighed as she nodded. "Good."

Her expression melted into one of motherly concern and gentle reproach swiftly. "I only want what's best for you Peter," she told him quietly.

Peter nodded stiffly as his mother gave him a small, sympathetic smile; resigned to the fact that he would not be best pleased with what she was forcing him to do.

Peter tore through his room like a hurricane and with the noise of one too as he angrily stomped across the floorboards, tearing open the doors of his wardrobe to rip out a new shirt at random.

Just as he was finishing buttoning up the buttons of his shirt there was a hesitant rap at his bedroom door, followed by someone sticking their head in the now slightly ajar door.

Edmund eyed Peter curiously before Peter snapped at him.

"I have to go apologise – to him!"

"Who?"

Peter glowered at Edmund for a moment. "James Berrington! – Keep up Ed!" Peter berated.

Edmund shook his head, a wary look in his eyes. "Do you think that's such a good idea Peter?"

"It's not my idea!" Peter balked. "Do you really think I would apologise to James Berrington of all people?! No…it's mum. She says it will stop the fighting once and for all."

"So, you've told her then? – About being suspended I mean?"

"Oh well done Ed, you certainly worked out that mystery," Peter mocked as he brushed by Edmund and out of his room agitatedly, the door slamming in his exit.

Edmund ignored the bitter jibe, following Peter as the elder brother stormed down the stairs.

Susan was in the hall, giggling softly as she spoke in hushed tones, fingers toying with the coil of the telephone wire. She hurriedly ended the conversation, slamming the phone back into its cradle just as Peter and Edmund reached the bottom of the stairs.

Peter rolled his eyes; no doubt another of Susan's friends.

"Where are you going?" Susan demanded suddenly as Peter took his coat of the peg in the hall and donned it swiftly.

"I'm going to apologise to James Berrington, the boy I was fighting with today and got suspended for," Peter answered truthfully, as he hastily did the buttons up on his coat with an unnecessary violence.

Susan's full bottom lip protruded in a perturbed pout with a furrowed brow.

"I don't think that's a good idea Peter," Susan remarked seriously.

"Is this not what you wanted?" Peter accused her sharply.

Susan scoffed, turning quickly on her heel.

"Grow up Peter!" she called over her shoulder before she disappeared into the living room again.

Peter had the resist the urge to laugh outright at that; how many times had Susan been warning him to grow-down and to act the age he was now in England and now…now she wanted him to grow-up?!

Edmund sighed tiredly from his side, looking to Peter exasperated.

"Where's Lu?" Peter asked suddenly.

"Helping mum with dinner," Edmund answered immediately, already starting to shrug on his coat.

Peter gave him a strange look, "What are you doing?"

"Going with you," Edmund answered casually.

Peter gave a short laugh, "No you're not Ed."

"Come on Peter! What if some of James' goons are there?"

"Well then I will take care of them myself," Peter answered confidently.

Edmund gave Peter a long look but the elder merely arched a brow at him fixing him with that cool cobalt stare that had become so common recently; that Peter used to shut out everyone without even knowing it, refusing to ask for help no matter what.

Edmund sighed in defeat as Peter turned sharply and walked out the door. Edmund didn't follow.

Peter made his way briskly along the streets; a frosty chill to the air. The shorter winter days meant less hours of light and as such the sky was already darkening.

Peter sighed irritably. Apologising would do nothing but…his mother had asked him to and he said he would. And besides, his mother hadn't specified what he had to apologise for.

Peter found the house easily. He only knew the address because he had seen it scrawled on a letter that had fallen on his desk. Then James had the audacity to accuse Peter of snooping around in his belongings. That slight of course had not gone unpunished and it was the cause of one of many fights the boys had engaged in.

The house itself was cramped in a line of terraced houses with small square gardens.

Inhaling deeply in resignation once more, Peter strode up to the door and knocked it firmly and sharply.

Inside a cacophony of sound burst alive that was audible even through the door. There was a scrabbling that was followed by a barking. Great; they have a dog, Peter bemoaned.

A baby's wail shattered the air from somewhere in the house and then there was a hurried thumping as someone descended the stairs Peter assumed.

The door was torn open, but it wasn't James as Peter was hoping, to get this over with as quickly as possible.

With one cursory look Peter acknowledged that she had to be at least James' sister; same flame red hair, face of freckles and slate grey eyes.

"Is James Berrington there?" Peter asked politely.

"No – he's out," she answered shortly.

"Do you have any idea when you expect him back?" Peter asked, warily eyeing the slavering dog that she was currently fighting to keep in the house, blocking its path with her legs alone.

"Wilson back – go! Shoo!" the girl hissed as she gave the dog a nudge back into the house with her leg.

Peter arched an amused brow. The dog was called Wilson; Peter wondered if it was coincidence.

The girl looked up again. "Sorry, he's just curious," she apologised with an easy smile, gesturing to the dog that despite her best attempts had its head wedged between her leg and the door, looking up at Peter with huge brown eyes and its red tongue lolling out to the side.

"Erm…no, I've no idea when Jimmy'll be back – I'll tell him you called if you want?" she suggested helpfully with another bright smile.

Peter sighed. This was just perfect, he thought sourly.

"If you could tell him Peter Pevensie called," Peter said, not really paying attention to the girl and more concerned with the dog that seemed determined to knock the slight girl to the ground in its eagerness to get out.

"Peter Pevensie?"

Peter's gaze snapped up as he was taken aback by the cold vehemence in the girl's tone and the way her slate grey eyes narrowed, two red spots appearing on her cheeks.

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion. "Yes. I'm Peter Pevensie," he confirmed. "Can you tell James that I called, I would…"

Peter never got to finish his words for at that moment something happened that Peter had most certainly not anticipated.

The harsh ground rose up to meet him swiftly, as pain ruptured once more across the overly tender spot on his jaw as a result of the punch the girl in front of him had just landed him.

What made it worse was that as he groaned in agony on the cold ground, the next thing he felt was a wet slobbery muzzle nudging against his face.

Peter pushed the drooling dog away from him as he scrambled to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.

Peter looked to her, his blue eyes blazing with anger and shock, his cheeks emblazoned red in embarrassment.

"You alright there, Ella? This young lad here ain't causing you no bother, is he?"

Peter whipped around indignantly to see an elder man with a weather- beaten face and overalls paused at the bottom of the garden, his bright eyes flitting from concern for the girl to disdain as he looked at Peter.

"No, I'm fine. Don't worry Mr Bates – I can handle myself," the girl replied casually with a bright smile and a wave.

The man chuckled good-naturedly and easily returned the smile, before with one last wary glance directed at a fuming Peter he continued on his way down the street.

Peter returned his fierce glare back towards the girl who stood nonchalantly with a victorious smirk on her face.

If she was a boy… Peter let that thought trail off. She wasn't and so he could not in good conscience wipe that smirk from her face by returning her favour to him.

Peter rubbed a hand across the doubly tender spot now on his jaw. "Why did you do that for?" Peter demanded through gritted teeth, a few locks of fair hair falling across his eyes.

An eyebrow shot up as the girl answered immediately. "That was for my twin! Do you know how many times I've had to fix Jimmy up after you and he have had a scrap?!" she demanded, folding her arms angrily across her chest.

Peter almost scoffed. He should have known – James Berrington's twin sister.

"Well I'm sure my sisters wouldn't dream of doing the same if your brother was to call at our door," Peter hissed at her, struggling to keep his composure, because really it was frustrating when she was looking so damn smug and knowing there was little he could do about it.

"I'm not your sister though," she answered bluntly with a careless shrug.

Peter inhaled deeply as he straightened his spine, preparing to turn sharply on his heel.

High King Peter never ran away from a fight, but he acknowledged that this was one he wasn't going to win, and he would have liked to leave with as much of his dignity intact as possible, having just been floored by a girl a good head smaller than him.

Now that he came to notice it…not only that, but a wisp of a girl really. She was all gangly limbs, her clothes hanging off her as though they were a size too big.

Peter groaned inwardly. How on earth had had been floored by one punch from – her?!

It was the shock and surprise of it, Peter hurriedly reasoned to soothe his wounded pride.

Peter offered her no other words and turned to leave, still being able to see that cloying smirk on her lips.

But then Peter paused as he found his way…barred.

Wilson, the great big oaf of a dog, was lying across the path.

Peter was in no way going to attempt to step over it, only for the dog to no doubt scramble to his feet and knock him to the ground. He had already been floored by a girl today, he wasn't about to add dog to the list.

Reluctantly and practically seething Peter turned his head stiffly. "Call off your dog," he ordered.

"Ha!" she laughed in exclamation and Peter was able to just catch a flash of red hair before she disappeared back into the house, shutting the door firmly after her.