Author's Note. If finally finished it! My apologies for the long wait, but Real Life was at fault, as always, plus a bit of writer's block which I seem to have overcome. I feel I should also warn you that this chapter is long and awfully talky! Nothing happens by way of plot, except that I get a bit obsessed with Edmund making tea. It very strange for me to have written anything with no semblance of plot, but the idea was obsessing me and needed to be written down. I would be pleased to hear anyone else's thoughts on the matter.

Oh, and I've changed the rating as it's all rather tame, really.

Enjoy!

High Street, Oxford, June 25th 1948. Evening.

Edmund was sure Peter was laughing at him. He was disguising it well enough, but Edmund knew his brother very well and the soft huffs of air that occasionally escaped him were a dead giveaway – so was the fact that Peter insisted on walking a few paces ahead, so his face could not be clearly seen.

It was ridiculous! Edmund scowled at the pavement as they walked back to Merton. He didn't know what had got into him that he could so blithely humiliate himself in that way. And blurt it out in that childish manner too! He didn't really hate girls, but saying it like that seemed the only way to get his feelings across to Peter without lots of explanation – or maybe he had just been frustrated by Peter's inability to get to the point. He had worried about Peter's reaction for such a long time, that it seemed anticlimactic now. Well, to be honest, he hadn't expected the laughter, but it was probably better than disgust or derision.

If anything, Peter's laughter showed him to be either relieved or pleased, or both, which was a reaction Edmund had not anticipated at all, and certainly didn't understand. It had truly been a day of revelation in more ways than one. If he was honest, he was relieved that he had finally said the words out loud, even if it was only half the truth.

Peter had said something in the pub about neither of them knowing what normal was. He still didn't know what Peter had been specifically referring to, but it had rung a chord with him regarding his current preoccupations – especially the Margaret Hopkins disaster – and had precipitated him, well basically blurting out his hidden feelings on a street corner. Added to which, Forster's snide comments about Peter's girlfriends had thrown into sharp relief his own difference. No wonder he'd reacted as he had.

Humiliated and embarrassed he might be, but even now, he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed, and didn't see why he should be. Peter, unknowingly, had been perfectly right and that had occurred to Edmund many times before. He hadn't known what normal was at all - his own physical maturity for one - he had only been ten years old when they'd arrived in Narnia and that was really too young to know what to expect. However, you don't go to an all-male school without picking up some things, no matter how ill informed, so he'd known enough to not be alarmed when certain things developed! On occasion, he'd woken up feeling vaguely satiated and with sticky sheets, which surprised him, but didn't alarm him. Actually, it had felt quite in the run of things and his mind had not dwelt on the development very much - he certainly didn't remember his dreams. And later on, he'd occasionally pleasured himself, but it wasn't something that he had felt any great urgency to do, and he couldn't recall now what had triggered the occasions - for all he knew, it had probably been boredom or sleeplessness!

That was normal for him. He did not remember ever feeling uncomfortable or ashamed - if he had, he might very well have spoken to Peter, but he supposed that if Peter had wanted to tell him anything he should know, he'd have done so. Really, he had been too caught up in the business of being a king, a warrior and a judge to worry about mere physical changes.

And so, he had grown up. He had never thought there was anything lacking in is life and he had been remarkably happy, physically and emotionally. He tried to remember if he had ever thought of marriage or children, but couldn't think of any particular time when the thought had occurred, except in a vague, far-off sense. For royalty, marriage was rife with political and strategic implications and was not the simple expression of love that it was for his subjects; he had supposed it would happen some day, but was in no rush to do it - and he had never met anyone he had wanted to marry.

That should have been a clue, he realised now. He had never really felt desire for a woman - wasn't even very sure what that should feel like. He had desired knowledge, desired food and warmth, desired companionship and conversation, desired the love and respect of his family, but physical desire? Oh, he had admired women - admired their beauty, even. He remembered a particularly graceful and delicate willow naiad who had come to Cair Paravel to plead for help in relocating to a home for her tree, nearer to a stream. He had forgotten her name now, but remembered how much he had enjoyed watching her pretty smile, and the way she dipped and swayed as though blown by a breeze, even within the walls of the Palace. Did his admiration mean he desired her? He doubted it very much.

And then they were back in England and had to grow up all over again. Only this time, with the example of his peers' constantly before him, her realised that his normal was not theirs. It was only then he began to feel confused and uncomfortable and...well, whom could he talk to? Peter had always been his confidant, but this was different, somehow. Besides, Peter always seemed so happy and confident and had plenty of girlfriends and he would hide anything that meant Peter wouldn't worry about him, or – and this was the worst thought of all – pity him.

Yet now, he'd blurted it out anyway, and that was Peter's fault too. When he'd come up on the London train that morning, he hadn't expected to end the day talking about himself; he had hoped that it would be Peter doing the talking. His relationship with Peter had been...not good over the past year, but he was not sure, even now, if Peter had any idea how hurt he had felt, or how lonely. Peter had subtly and gradually drawn himself away from his family, and it had been so subtle that he doubted his parents, or Susan, had noticed. He had – and so had Lucy. Of course, he had remained their beloved brother, kind, thoughtful, protective – when he was with them. But those occasions had become rare and when he was back in Oxford, he became distant and detached, in more ways than the mere geographical. Edmund used to wait eagerly for the frequent letters and the weekly telephone conversations, but the letters had become terse and the telephone rang infrequently and Edmund was left with a gaping hole that could never quite be filled, even by mountains of school work and his little sister's loving attention.

So, Peter's telephone call a few days before had come like a reprieve from a long imprisonment. Edmund didn't even consider what might have prompted the invitation before accepting. It was enough that Peter wanted to see him; maybe then he could lay to rest the doubts that had plagued him for months, the whisper in his mind that told him it was his fault somehow, that he had done something that Peter could not forgive him for.

But Peter had greeted him happily, even enthusiastically at Oxford station, then their companionable walk, the teasing, the treat of the cricket game. Edmund's heart had swelled with relief and happiness for he had his brother back and he felt complete for the first time in months. He should have known better than to relax too soon – he had never made that mistake in battle, but he made it constantly with Peter; when he trusted, he trusted entirely too well. So, of course, as the afternoon had worn on, he was unprepared for the chasm between them to open up again. Peter had been...completely uncommunicative. His all too brief happy openness had fled and a tongue-tied, formal, stiff automaton had been left behind. Edmund's teasing was met with uncomprehending stares, his increasing desperate attempts to make Peter laugh either eliciting a polite smile, or nothing at all.

It had been excruciating and he hadn't known what to think. Was he boring his brother so completely, that he couldn't even summon the strength to be polite? Had he offended him? Worse of all, did Peter not trust him enough to speak what he really felt? In the end, Edmund had been unable to keep his feelings to himself – had shown for once how really unhappy he was – and Peter, in return, had opened up to him.

Or not, as it turned out.

How had they got from that to here? Here was his brother, strolling down the city streets, in an unaccountably good mood (and at his expense, thank you very much) and Edmund, having bared his soul, was still none the wiser on the condition of his brother's.

He may have looked eighteen, but he was really thirty-three and he wasn't going to stand for it! Edmund jogged a couple of paces to bring himself level with his brother. He could see the Radcliffe Camera up ahead on his left and mentally working out where they were, pulled on Peter's sleeve so that they went right into King Edward Street – much quieter at this time of the evening.

Peter's head came up in surprise, but he continued to smile and followed Edmund willingly enough. Edmund pulled them into the shadow of the high wall on their left, Oriel Square in front of them, the honey-coloured stone of the college buildings glowing in the last light of the day. It was quiet and traffic was light.

"Peter..." Edmund paused, suddenly not sure how to start with his brother smiling at him, so warm and easy.

"What?"

"I...I'm glad I've managed to make you laugh, even though I look like a right idiot, but I don't...understand what's going on! You were supposed to be telling me something before that...what's-his-name...interrupted. Now, I'm suddenly the comic relief for the evening!" He tried to keep the hurt out his voice, he really did, but some of what he was feeling must have seeped through because Peter's face fell comically fast and he grasped Edmund's upper arm in a warm grip.

"Ed! I'm not laughing at you – I promise!"

Edmund replied with a sceptical look.

"Really", said Peter, his eyes soft with concern. "I'm laughing...well, at me!"

It was an odd answer, but Edmund was becoming frustratingly used to that from Peter. He felt no nearer understanding his brother than he had at the beginning of the day.

"...and...I'm sorry about Forster. He's a poisonous little toe-rag and likes to find everybody's weak spots..." Peter trailed off as Edmund flinched. He didn't mean to, but he was still feeling exposed and sensitive.

"Ed..." It was said with so much gentle compassion that Edmund had to look away. "...you can't possibly believe for a minute that I would think you were weak...or anything like that," his brother continued, "You know that!"

Edmund kept his eyes down. Well, Peter may not have hit a weak spot, but he'd found a sore spot sure enough. He also decided that he couldn't let it go – not when they were making progress.

"I don't know anything!" he said, low and intense, surprising himself at the roughness of his voice. Peter froze, his hands involuntarily grasping Edmund's arms tighter.

"I don't know anything, because you don't talk to me anymore! When exactly was the last time you were interested in anything I had to say to you?"

Peter stared, speechless, his eyes wide with shock.

Edmund stared back, fighting the hurt and almost relishing the shock. He really didn't want to damage his relationship with Peter any further, but he had gone too far to draw back now.

"You are never there, Peter. Even when you're with us now, you're not there! Where do you go in your head that's so much better than being with us?"

It was half-shouted, incoherent, but Peter understood him well enough because Edmund could see the guilt darkening those blue eyes. That the guilt was there at all deepened the hurt. Edmund drew in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes against the knowledge of his brother's culpability, worn out from his day of lurching from one emotional extreme to the next. Afraid of what his brother would have to say, but afraid for him too.

He waited for Peter's words, but he should have known that his brother never used words when actions would speak for him. Edmund found his face pressed against the soft cotton of Peter's shirt, warm arms wrapped around his back. It was done with an alacrity that belied any self-consciousness, or even sense of their surroundings – typical Peter – and that was enough in itself to make Edmund instantly relax against his brother's chest, all tension gone in an instant as though it hadn't been building for months at all. Oh, it had been far, far too long.

Peter's arms tightened and they stood on the pavement and rocked together, side-to-side, as though standing still was not enough to convey what they felt. So surrounded did Edmund feel that it took him a minute to notice the litany of words pouring softly from Peter's mouth.

"…Ed, Ed, Ed…I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to….I'm such an idiot…so sorry…"

Edmund could have wept with relief. Peter had always been more buttoned up than him when it came to expressing himself; less comfortable with emotional quick sands, more inclined to suffer in silence. He didn't always notice how his actions affected others, before it was too late. Idiot, thought Edmund, half in affection and half in genuine anger. Idiot…

He suspected the anger would be there for a while – there wasn't much he could do about it except ignore the squirming feeling in his stomach and never once stop to wonder if his faith had been rocked at all. He had forgiven Peter instantly because he didn't know how to do anything else. Weakly, he brought an arm up from where it dangled against his side, dislodging Peter's hold. He thumped Peter on the chest, none too gently,

"Talk to me!" he ordered.

Peter wasn't quite ready to smile, but affection softened his gaze and the grimness around his mouth. He reached up a hand and touched Edmund's hair gently, as though daring to ruffle it would frighten his brother away.

"I think," he said slowly, gazing beyond Edmund's shoulder, "I think I have been so entirely obsessed with my own situation, I never really thought about yours…" he trailed off, but was obviously far from finished so Edmund forbore to comment, even while his mind repeated the strange phrase in his head,

My…situation?

Peter's eyes flickered down to Edmund's face, assessing his reception. Edmund thought he might have caught the confusion because Peter's eyes tightened in obvious frustration,

"I don't know how to explain it properly anymore, Ed, but…I was so convinced that you would think less of me, I couldn't explain it. I…I didn't think you would understand…"

Edmund was sincerely confused, but simultaneously further convinced of his brother's stupidity. Someone who didn't know Peter as well as he might have taken issue with the lack of faith that Peter's little speech implied, but Edmund knew that such heresy would never have passed through his brother's noble and overprotective head. Sometimes only the direct method worked…

Peter made to shift his eyes away from his brother's puzzled gaze yet again, but Edmund stilled his movements with a hand on either side of his face, forcing eye contact. Peter's eyes widened and he blinked furiously, endearingly abashed at the close attention. Edmund spoke quietly, but as forcefully as he dared in the quiet twilight of the city street,

"Peter – nothing you could do, nothing you could say, and nothing you could think would ever make me think less of you. I swear it."

Peter drew in a sharp, deep breath and a glassy sheen washed over his astonished eyes. He pulled backwards, jerking his head around and Edmund let him go, heart pounding, but a slight smile touching his mouth as he watched his brother's back. The light was rapidly disappearing - another few minutes and they would barely be able to see each other's face. But there was time enough for this.

Peter turned back to him so suddenly that Edmund almost took a step backwards. Peter was serious still, but there was an openness in his face that Edmund hadn't even realised he had missed until now – as if his pledge of loyalty had loosened his brother's reticence.

"I...I don't deserve that, Ed, but thank you," Peter said quietly. "And...and I mostly don't deserve it because you are so much braver than me."

"Peter..." Edmund ground out the name in frustration,

"No...let me finish. You were braver tonight, because you said it first."

What on earth?

"Peter – do you mind cluing me in? What did I say first?"

The light was drawing in rapidly now and he doubted Peter could see the confusion in his face, but he surely couldn't miss it in his tone. Peter took two more steps forward, back to where they started. His blue eyes looked almost hazel in the twilight.

"I mean – what I was going to tell you before we were interrupted was what you told me – only you got there first."

Something jolted hard in Edmund's stomach, which might have been shock, or might have been disbelief,

"You...wait...no...what are you saying?"

It was hard to tell in the light, but Peter looked as though he might be blushing,

"What you said about...about girls. You know, that you…"

Edmund blinked in irritation, "I recall," he interrupted with a drawl,

"Yes…well, you said what I think. I mean, that's how I feel too. Well, actually, I wouldn't have put it like that, I don't actually hate girls, but you know what I mean, right?"

Blank astonishment. That was all Edmund's mind had room for at that moment. It was the last thing he'd expected Peter to say and were it not for the earnestness of his eyes, would have wondered if he wasn't being mocked. His head span with images from the past few years – Peter's laughing face, the groups of girls, the blushing looks. What?

"Hang on…wait a minute. No. You don't mean what I think you mean, do you?"

Peter grimaced at Edmund's consternation,

"I must have hidden it better than I realised," he muttered.

"Hidden it? Peter...what?"

Peter was shaking his head in bemused chagrin as Edmund tried to rein in his scattered thoughts. It was beginning to dawn on him that he and Peter shared a lot more than even he had realised.

"It is what you're thinking," said Peter quietly, "and by the look on your face, it was the furthest thing from your mind." He looked at Edmund rather wistfully as he said it, and Edmund began to wonder if his brother had been torturing himself over this for far too long

With an effort that left him drained, he pulled his thoughts together and not for the first time that night, made decisions for both of them. Sighing, he tugged on Peter's arm and the tall figure followed him without hesitation up the street,

"Come on. We're going back and you are going to tell me all about it. And...this is really important, so listen up...you are going to feed me. I'm starving, Peter! I've had nothing but a mouthful of beer since tea.

He surprised a chuckle out of Peter at that, and his older brother meekly led the way back to Merton.


Edmund adjusted the gas flame under the battered kettle whilst keeping a surreptitious eye on Peter who was staring glumly at the cheese bubbling under the grill. He was making a pile of cheese on toast – a treat in those straitened times – and Edmund wondered if Peter had saved weeks of cheese rations for just this occasion. His stomach rumbled at the savoury smell and he glared at the kettle as though he could make it boil faster.

The kitchen was tiny and ill-equipped, provided merely to keep several Research Fellows in tea and toast, and not much else (not that any of them were capable of producing much more than that at the best of times), but it had the benefit of being quiet and cosy, with a battered wooden table, scrubbed almost white by generations of college housekeepers and marked indelibly by butter drips. Edmund had sat at the table while Peter laboured away with the bread knife, talking all the while in a quiet, hesitant voice. With the last of the bread popped under the grill, he'd been summoned to brew the tea.

"So..." began Edmund slowly, when Peter had finally fallen silent, "...let me see if I've got this right.

Despite the very large number of girls you've escorted to parties and dances and picnics and whatever – some more than once, I should point out - you've never actually courted any of them?" Edmund wondered how on earth that was supposed to work as he rummaged in a drawer for the tea strainer.

"It's hanging up over the sink," said Peter, pulling the grill out a little to check the condition of the cheese. "...and, no, I never really took any of them out in that way."

Edmund found the strainer hanging on a nail above the dish mop and grabbed it down before turning an incredulous look towards his brother.

"But I don't understand! How did you manage that? They were practically queuing up for you!" Edmund shook his head at his memories of feeling strangely lost and bereft by Peter's popularity – the knowledge that he obviously found girls and relationships so effortless. If he'd only known...

Peter shrugged. He looked fairly unconcerned to the uninitiated, but kept his eyes averted which immediately told Edmund he was feeling guilty,

"Well, the first time it happened was because I didn't know what else to do! It was Edith Michaels – do you remember?"

Edmund had a vague impression of brunette curls and a dimple and nodded impatiently,

"I must have been...16? nearly 17? I can't really remember, but I'd met her a few times at that café in the High Street, you know, the one that Susan started dragging me to at least twice a week. I can't remember the name now..."

"...the Coffee Pot", Edmund supplied casually, earning a surprised grin from Peter and an enquiring arch of an eyebrow,

Edmund grinned back, "Lucy and I used to call it the Gone-a-Lot because Susan spent so much time there."

"I see. I think..." Peter shook his head and continued, "Anyway, I used to go to be polite and stop Su pestering me. There was a large crowd there on most occasions and I didn't really notice Edith, except I suppose I must have talked to her a few times because Susan started teasing me about her."

Edmund looked up from his contemplation of the kettle at that. It sounded awfully familiar. "Ah, now I understand," he said cryptically, but Peter understood him and grimaced in agreement.

"She kept saying Edith was 'stuck' on me, whatever that means, and that I obviously liked her too, and why didn't I ask her out! I remember feeling completely confused because none of those things had occurred to me at all. It wasn't just that though, and I'm not sure I can explain this properly, but it was like she expected me to be looking at all the girls I met as potential girlfriends." There was a bewildered note in Peter's voice that Edmund could wholeheartedly relate to.

"Came as a shock, didn't it?" he said quietly, knowing he didn't need to tell Peter any more.

"You too?"

Edmund nodded and looked away, absently picking at the accumulated tannin on the strainer with a fingernail. It might once have been silver plated, but years of abuse had blackened and dented it.

"Anyway, I told her I didn't want to take Edith out, and Susan just smiled and accused me of being shy, or coy, or something like that, as though she didn't believe me for a moment. After a while it became clear that my reluctance was not...normal behaviour, if that makes any sense."

It made perfect sense, but Edmund was too busy dealing with the boiling kettle to answer what was probably a rhetorical question. He poured water into the tea pot as Peter juggled with the last pieces of cheese on toast and adding them to the plateful he'd put in the oven to keep warm.

"Milk?"

"Window sill"

Edmund retrieved the jug and sniffed at the contents dubiously before shrugging and putting it on the table to join the plates and cups. They'd just have to take their chances. In no time at all, they were seated and Edmund was half-way through his first slice, licking his buttery fingers and grinning at the thought of their mother's face if she could see her boys without a single utensil between them.

"So, Edith?"

"So, Edith. I did something then that I wasn't very proud of ; I wanted to get Susan off my back and stop Edith mooning after me, so told Edith that my partner for a dance had let me down and as I had tickets, would she come please, but as a friend, and I told Susan I'd asked her out."

"So you lied to both of them?"

"Well…yes."

The brothers stared at each other across the small table, curls of steam from the tea rising between them. Edmund wondered if he should have felt shock at the confession, but none came, instead he just felt sadness for the boy his brother had been, and a great deal of love. He nodded and something relaxed in Peter's eyes.

"As I said, I wasn't very proud of that, but it worked and I'm afraid to say it became a habit."

"So – every girl you took out thought they were going just as friends and nothing else?"

"Well…in theory."

Edmund had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the smirk that was building. His brother was impossibly naïve sometimes!

"Let me guess, some thought you were terribly shy and couldn't bring yourself to declare your hidden passion?"

"Er…"

"Or, maybe they thought you were suffering from desperate unrequited love for someone else, so they wanted to look after you and maybe inspire you to change your mind?"

"Ed…"

"Idiot."

Peter smiled sheepishly, "Well, something like that, I suppose." He looked down at his cup, "The thing is – they were all nice girls, Ed. It's not that I didn't like them, I just…"

"…didn't want to go out with them. I know Peter. You're preaching to the converted here!"

Peter smiled slightly, but continued in a pensive voice, "Do you know, it came to me that day I took Edith Michaels out, that all those years we spent in Narnia, all that time we spent at other courts and holding balls and travelling about the place, it never once occurred to me to think of women as more than friends. Not once!"

"I know"

"I don't remember that being odd, do you?"

"It felt perfectly normal to me".

There was an awful lot they weren't saying to each other, Edmund concluded, but it didn't seem to matter. It was obvious they were on the same page, and had been for a very long time. Maybe they didn't need to say everything, after all. There was something bothering him, though,

"Don't you find it exhausting?"

Peter looked at him oddly, the milk jug poised above his cup,

"What?"

"All that lying to girls?"

Peter blushed deeply, fussing over his tea cup in an attempt to avoid his brother's amused gaze,

"I try not to do that anymore," he muttered eventually around a mouthful of tea.

Edmund felt a prickle of scepticism at that. He thought that Peter had been lying to himself for quite a while, let alone anyone else. In fact, he suspected that Peter had been fairly caught in his web of lies for a long time. Maybe…

"Is that why you hardly ever come home now?"

He tried to keep the sadness out of his voice, he really did, but this was all so senseless! So what if neither of them much fancied going out with anyone? What was the big deal?

Peter face fell and he grasped Edmund's forearm,

"If there's one thing I really regret, Ed, it's that. I'm sorry I've been so…not there. Half the time I thought there must be something wrong with me, and I sort of…lost sight of myself."

Edmund sighed in regret, "You only ever have to be who you are Peter," he said quietly, "that's more than enough."

Peter smiled sadly back, "Well, I know that now."

Edmund responded with his own smile, then jumped slightly when a door slammed below them and footsteps and voices were heard on the staircase.

Peter frowned suddenly, annoyed and determined. He stood, gathering his cup and the milk,

"I don't want to speak to anyone else tonight, grab the teapot, would you? My room!"

Edmund smiled inwardly – after all, it took a king to be that decisive – and obediently picked up his cup and the pot. They left the empty plates scattered over the table.

Peter's room was a bedroom, sitting room and study rolled into one harmonious, if rather untidy, whole. He claimed that Edward Capel had used the room when he was a Fellow back in 1790s, but Edmund thought he had just picked the name out of the list of Fellows in the dining hall because he knew he'd been a first class cricketer – Edmund pretended to believe him because it was a sweet gesture. It was comfortable at any rate – much more so that Peter's undergraduate room and Edmund quickly made himself at home on a battered armchair, his feet on the bed.

Peter was still looking rather serious and Edmund had a feeling that the conversation was about to swing around to him at any moment. He'd known it was coming, but he needed to satisfy his curiosity on at least one more point.

"Pete?"

"What?"

Peter put his pillow against the bedhead and scooted back against it, kicking Edmund's legs off the bed as he did so. Edmund huffed in annoyance and immediately put his feet back up.

"Did you ever kiss any of them?"

Peter looked rather taken aback at the question, then very thoughtful.

"No…well, sort of."

Edmund really couldn't help the smile this time,

"How can you 'sort of' kiss someone?"

Peter's mouth twisted into a half-smile, despite himself,

"I mean that I didn't kiss any of them, but one or two may have tried to kiss me"

"Ooh, I see. I take it you escaped with your virtue intact?"

"I'll have you know I was the picture of confused dignity, and a perfect gentleman to boot."

Edmund could see it very clearly and grinned at the image,

"Disappointed them, didn't you?"

Peter looked offended for a moment, then his face softened and he contemplated his brother's face for a while, a myriad of questions in his eyes.

Edmund just waited.

"So," said Peter finally, "is this the point where you tell me all about Margaret Hopkins?"

Edmund grimaced, his suspicions confirmed, and not really surprised that Peter knew the name. Susan and her big mouth.

"What did Susan tell you?" asked Edmund, resigned.

Peter smiled gently, "she was really very protective of you, you know," he said, "She thought I'd laugh at you for your girl troubles because I was obviously such a Don Juan myself!" His tone was gently self-mocking, but the irony was certainly not lost on Edmund.

"I thought that myself, at the time" he said quietly and Peter inclined his head in acceptance and apology.

"Yes, I see that now," he said in a more subdued tone, "is that what prompted you taking her out?"

Edmund grimaced again, but at his own stupidity this time,

"I've been mocking you, Pete, I know, but I doubt I dealt with it any better! I'd been avoiding girls for such a long time, it was getting bloody noticeable. In fact, Susan said a couple of things to me that made me wonder if she thought I was…well…you know…um…" he trailed off nervously, not sure how to say it,

"Homosexual?"

Edmund winced, "Er…yes. That." Then added hurriedly, "Which I'm not!"

He glanced over at his brother, who was regarding him with amusement,

"I know that!" Peter said mildly. "It's strange, though…"

"What's strange?"

"That theory never even occurred to me. In my case, I mean. You'd have thought it would at some point – but it never entered my head."

"No, nor mine. I think I'm not used to thinking of myself as anyone's potential boyfriend. It came as quite a shock when Susan started asking me in a roundabout way why I was always spending time with Mark and Geoff and not with girls. I think I must have blushed redder than a tomato when I realised what she was talking about and I sort of panicked..."

"What did you say?" Peter was grinning openly at him, and Edmund tried to burn the smile off him with a glare.

"I don't really remember to be honest – I think my brain was frazzled by shock. I must have given the impression I was incurably modest and shy and could only admire from afar because Susan gave me a long lecture about how kind and noble and handsome I was and any girl would be lucky to go out with me. Honestly!"

Edmund glared in exasperation as Peter collapsed into giggles

"It wasn't funny at the time!" he complained, "It was positively humiliating!"

"I know, I'm sorry," said Peter, not looking sorry at all. "So you asked out Margaret to get Susan off your back? How is that different to what I did?"

Edmund winced inwardly and wondered how to say the next bit without hurting Peter. He sighed because the outcome was inevitable and the quicker he got it over with the better,

"It wasn't quite like that," he said cautiously and Peter, catching his tone, immediately sobered,

"What do you mean?"

Edmund took his feet off the bed and leaned forward, head bowed over his clasped hands. He was aware he looked more vulnerable like that, but didn't really care,

"I mean that Susan had got me thinking – about how...odd...I was. I'd been doing my best to ignore it up until then..."

Peter moved as though he wanted to say something, but Edmund glanced at him to keep him quiet. Peter subsided, his brows drawn down in concern,

"...and I didn't want anyone in the family...well, you...to be ashamed of me, or worried about me or..."

"Ed..."

"Hang on Peter, just let me say this. I wanted to be more like you – I always have done! I thought maybe I just wasn't trying hard enough or something, so I...well, you can guess."

He risked a glance at Peter who looked positively stricken. Well, that was no surprise after all, but was what Edmund had been trying to avoid all along and it didn't sit well with him.

"You asked her out in earnest, didn't you?" his brother asked quietly.

"Yes. I stupidly thought that it would be all right – I liked her well enough, and if you could do it, then so could I!"

Peter sat up and grasped Edmund's knee with a faintly unsteady hand,

"Oh hell, Ed! I've really made a mess of this."

It was a heartfelt exclamation, but Edmund wasn't in the business of making Peter feel any worse than he already did, so he lay his hand over the larger one and squeezed gently,

"It doesn't matter, Pete. It didn't take me long to realise that it wasn't going to work out, no matter how hard I tried!"

Peter just looked encouragingly at him, sensing the story was not quite told.

"We went to this party one evening, and for some reason we ended up in the pantry! I'm not completely naive, so I realised that she wanted to get me alone, so I...kissed her..." he trailed off, and couldn't quite conceal his shudder at the memory. He wondered what Peter made of that and when he glanced up again, his brother looked quite taken aback at the reaction, his mouth shifting into a worried frown,

"What was that for, Ed?"

This was the bit he'd been dreading and still didn't quite understand, but he forged on nonetheless,

"It...it was really...I don't know how to describe it. It was really wrong!"

"I don't understand."

"It reminded me of...do you remember I told you when I went to ...her...Jadis...?" Peter flinched, "...and I found all the Animals turned to stone and was thrown in the dungeon and saw Mr. Tumnus, and, well, you know the rest...?"

"Yes, I know," said Peter in a not quite steady voice,

"Well, the very worst thing about all of that wasn't the cold, of the fear, or the pain, it was the wrongness of it all. It seemed to seep out the ground wherever she went. She was never meant to be in Narnia, Peter, and everything felt wrong because she was. It got worse the longer I spent with her."

Peter stared at him in amazement,

"You've never told me that before!"

"I didn't really realise it before – not until I felt it again. I'm not trying to say that Margaret was like the Witch – that's completely unfair, it's just that...kissing her, and spending time with her felt wrong. It was like..." Edmund broke off and his gazed flickered to the painted ceiling as though he could suddenly find inspiration there. An idea had occurred to him. "...it was like it wasn't just me that didn't want to be with her, Aslan didn't want me to either."

The revelation came out of the blue, but it made everything in his mind click into place and he knew he was right. Peter must have felt the same for despite his open mouth of surprise, there was a certainty in his eyes that Edmund knew must have been in his own.

"Good Lord, Ed! Do you think...really?"

"I'm sure of it!"

"Do you think that's why...?"

"It must be."

They stared at each other in amazement. Edmund felt something relax inside him, some tension that he had been holding for a very long time. He should have been angry, or shocked or both, but all he could feel was an overwhelming relief.

"Lucy too, to you think?"

"For certain."

"But not Susan." Peter's voice was thoughtful, and it wasn't a question. He looked a little disconcerted at his own conclusion and Edmund could relate to how that felt. Susan was definitely different from her siblings in this way, and in others too. It made him sad in ways he couldn't define.

"No," he replied quietly, not sure how to express what he was feeling, but knowing that he probably didn't need to.

All that was left was the why of it all. The question was in both of their eyes, but Edmund wasn't quite brave enough yet to voice it. He'd learned a long time ago to trust in Aslan and he wasn't going to betray that trust now – he was sure there was a purpose to it all, he just wasn't sure he wanted to know what that was. He gazed at his brother's familiar face and with a surge of thankfulness realised that now he had Peter back – fully back for the first time since Narnia, nothing else really mattered very much anyway. Come what may...

Edmund's mouth quirked up in a half-smile as he took in Peter's tousled hair, his tired, solemn eyes and his earnest gaze. Edmund's smile brought puzzlement to the gaze, but he smiled back automatically, and his stance relaxed – pleased his brother's mood was improved, but unsure why it had. Edmund smiled more fully in affection and a strange thought came to him that the Peter who sat before him now was the way he was always destined to be. Joyful, yet serious, innocent, yet wise. Never aging, never changing. He didn't know where the thought had come from – it should have been a sinister one, but it felt like a gift and a promise...

Edmund went to sleep that night with his head resting on his brother's chest – something they hadn't done for many years, but felt like the right thing to do. He was more content than he had been for a very long time and slept easily and deeply, but he had a strange dream that he would recall for days afterwards, leaving him unsettled, until it faded from his mind. He was standing somewhere dim and noisy, Peter at his side. They were waiting for something, calmly and patiently. Then there came a noise, like wind in a tunnel, getting louder and louder until it seemed to gain physical presence and as the noise reached a deafening peak, it seemed to go through them…Then there was just a white light and a feeling of weightlessness.

He soon forgot the details and assumed it couldn't be important - besides, he was far too busy to worry about strange dreams. He had his life to lead.

THE END

Sorry about ending on a depressing note, but I find it impossible to write about Peter and Edmund without throwing in some kind of ghastly foreshadowing! You can't get away from the fact that no matter what they do or enjoy or love or say, they are going to end up dead. I think Aslan 'encourages' their celibacy for precisely this reason.