He made his heart feel worth.

He stood alone in the shade of the pavilion looking around at the wealth and splendor that surrounded him, sunlight filtering through the brilliant red canvas above his head. There were richly designed pillows and elegantly fashioned vessels, and a heavy scent of incense on the air.

He didn't belong here.

Edmund sighed deeply, feeling his eyelids dropping and his posture slipping as the minutes ticked by, waiting for his brother's arrival. Looking about, he spotted two hammocks hung side-by-side from the ceiling and he decided he would like nothing more than to crawl into one of them, but he knew he mustn't. The warm quilts and velvet cushions looked so inviting, but he stood his ground. He did not deserve the luxuries that were here; he deserved nothing. His hunger and thirst were powerful, and he could feel every muscle in his body slipping to his fatigue, but still he waited. He would not be caught sleeping in his brother's tent - a traitor in his brother's quarters.

He refused to defile the place that belonged to a king.

A pang of remorse washed over him and he breathed out sharply, leaning against a tent post and closing his eyes, dreading what was to come. Left a prisoner to his own thoughts, he could hear Ginnarbrik's shrill, biting voice, sending pure chills down his spine.

"Outcast..."

He did not belong here.

oooooo

The golden sunlight poured across the grassy field before him, setting the dew on fire, shimmering like millions of tiny diamonds. Peter breathed in the crisp morning air, taking in the majesty around him, trying desperately to calm his weary soul.

He was conflicted.

Every single cell in his body wanted to turn back, sprint across the camp, fly into his tent and care for and see and feel and hold and love his brother, more than he could want anything else this world would ever offer him. The other part of him was afraid.

So very afraid.

Who was his brother? Who was the boy who had come back to them so broken? What would it take to mend? What could he do? These thoughts plagued him as he wandered about the camp, his eyes searching frantically. The sounds of the encampment completely prevented his thoughts for half and hour, fueling his despair. He needed The Lion desperately.

Suddenly, he found his feet in front of his own tent, but didn't dare go in. He stood for a long while, taking a long, good look at the gold-emblazoned entrance, frozen as everything about him moved freely without a care in the world.

"Go," a voice breathed in his ear, and The Lion nuzzled his cheek. "Be brave, and be gentle."

Peter nodded, still nervous. His palms were sweaty, grasping the hilt of his sword anxiously as he looked straight ahead at the crimson canvas, eyes following the pattern of gold threads that flashed in the breeze as the tent stirred beneath it. He looked to his side - Aslan had gone again as quietly as he had come, and Peter sighed, attempting to steady himself. He did not know what he would find inside.

Taking the flap of the tent in his shaking fingers, he paused for half a second before entering the pavilion.

What he found took his breath away.

Lying against the pole of the tent, his brother slept soundly. Standing up.

Peter had to smile a bit, ignoring the circumstances for a few sweet moments as he took in the sight of Edmund, with pillows and plush quilts all around him, stubbornly refusing to use them and instead resting in what had to be the most uncomfortable position he could possibly have composed for himself. His heart leapt into his throat at the peaceful expression upon the bruised, dirty, tear-stained face.

He quietly stepped forward, easing the boy off of the beam and into his arms, taken aback slightly at the light frailty of his frame. He carried him carefully to the bed that had been prepared for him, and gently deposited him amongst the many soft cusions. There was true childlike innocence on his face as he slept - Peter watched him for a long while. Had he truly changed? When he had watched him come down the hill and into his sisters' arms that morning, he saw a creature he did not recognize.

Could he have changed? Or was it all still a lie? A huge, nightmarish lie?

Peter sat beside him, unsure of what to do. He examined closely the cuts and bruises strewn across Edmund's pale face - he grimaced at the sight of a large black eye, swollen and dark against colorless skin. What had she done to him? His heart gave a painful throb. There were many cuts surrounding it where blows must have broken skin; he sighed quietly, feeling so much pity but not knowing where to start, or how to help. If he should even help at all.

If he would let him help.

Suddenly, Edmund began to stir uneasily amongst the pillows, coming to. Peter held his breath, eyes wide and heart beginning to race, critically watching every movement his brother made.

Dark chocolate eyes flickered open, dulled with pain as he regained consciousness. He hissed as his own movements irritated his wounds, some of them infected and worsening his condition; he looked about, confusion settling in, eyes suddenly locking with Peter's, widening.
What Peter saw in them broke his heart.

Fear.

The two were very quiet for a long while, neither moving or making a sound. Edmund breathed in a shuddering breath that suddenly broke the quiet with a fit of dry, dusty coughs that rattled his bones. He had not had a drink of anything for a long while - he could not remember the last time he had. Peter grimaced at the pitiful display; he quickly stood and poured a goblet of wine and pulled a loaf of bread from a basket, returning immediately to his brother's side and helping him to sit up, murmuring in a hushed tone. Peter pressed the cup into Edmund's hands, but he merely stared down into it, as though he were unsure. After another moment of silence, Peter raised his eyebrows.

"Drink," he said gruffly, growing a little impatient. Edmund did as he was told; he sputtered at his first sip, the strong, fermented taste overwhelming him before he quickly drank the cup dry. Peter watched him closely. Edmund was becoming a tad bit frustrating, he thought; this change of attitude was unnatural, somehow. It was as though the fire of his life had been snuffed out completely - he could see it in his eyes. Was Peter supposed to tell him what to do before he did anything? He did not understand why he had to first say something before his brother would obey. Peter came back from his thoughts as Edmund finally found his voice.

"How did I get here?" he asked quietly, nodding to the beam he had originally been resting against. Peter cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. His brother's voice was so raspy and small.

"I carried you to your bed," he said simply, busying himself with refilling his brother's cup and pressing the loaf into his hands. Edmund was watching him with steady eyes, and Peter tried very hard to avoid his stare. "You seemed exhausted." He tried to be light, and the conversation was awkward, both of them dancing around what neither of them wanted to be the first to mention.

Edmund hung his head, setting the cup and the bread on the side table uneaten. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. Peter looked at him, unsure of what he was referring to. "I didn't mean to fall asleep." Edmund paused, frustrated with himself. "I'm sorry you had to carry me." Peter shook his head, concerned. He waited for a few moments. "I told you to sleep, Ed, it's fine," Peter said at last, a little exasperated, but still attempting lightheartedness. Edmund sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. Peering closer at him, Peter could see the torn, gashed, heavily lacerated wrists as Edmund's sleeves slipped down his forearms, and he choked.

"When have I ever done what you've told me to do, Peter?" he said in a low voice, emotionless. Peter took the question as rhetorical, and grew solemn as he gathered up a bowl of spiced water and clean rags from the bedside table, taking one of Edmund's hands in his own and pressing the bread back into Edmund's other hand. Peter dipped one of the rags into the water, wringing it and looking into his brother's eyes. Edmund did not make a sound as Peter began to clean his torn, infected wrists, the water stinging terribly with its various medicines and flushing out both blood and dirt as they were cleansed. Edmund bit his lip, overcome; Peter saw this and his heart softened, misinterpreting his response as pain.

"I'm sorry if this hurts, Ed," he said quietly, cleaning slowly and diligently Edmund shook his head, trying to pull his wrist away, eyes clenching shut against tears. "Please stop," he finally whispered, tugging persistently. Peter gripped tighter out of reflex, deeply worried now. "Edmund, this has to happen," he said firmly, his heart breaking. "Please stop," Edmund said again, his whimpering and tugging becoming more forceful. Peter gripped him tightly, desperate.

"Ed-"

"STOP!"

All at once, Peter fell backwards, the water had spilled, the bread and wine fell to the ground, and Edmund capsized the hammock, buried beneath the contents. Peter's temper flared - a very kind Centauress had spent several hours preparing that medicinal water, and Edmund had just wasted it. He snapped in his pent-up frustration.

"When will you ever stop wrecking everything you touch?"

Edmund remained quiet, crawling from the pile of quilts and away from Peter, to the corner of the tent. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing sharply. He snapped again. "Why are you so ungrateful for the sacrifices so many people have made for you? Are still making for you?"
Edmund curled upon himself in the darkened corner, shaking softly. Peter's frustration grew into profound distress.

"Edmund?" he wondered, brushing himself off and rising to his feet. He stepped closer.

"I don't deserve any of it, that's what I've been trying to say," Edmund whispered at last, trembling. "I don't deserve anything, and I don't want you to see me like this."

Peter's breath hitched in his throat, immediately regretting his outburst. He took a step closer, desperate now. "But Ed, I want to see you..." Edmund shook his head violently, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I don't want you to see what I've done to myself. What I deserve."

Peter looked to Edmund's wrists and immediately knew that they weren't the whole story. They were only the prologue to the long-lived, hideous abuse and torture he knew his brother had suffered alone, things both physical and not, and Edmund blamed himself completely. Thought he deserved nothing less. Peter felt so helpless in light of all of this, and sank to his knees.

"Edmund, you can't survive by looking at everything you think you don't deserve and refusing it," Peter said softly, scooting closer and taking his brother's small, icy hand. He swallowed hard, feeling Edmund flinch at the contact. "You haven't eaten in days - you'll die if you don't."

"It will be what I deserve," he snapped bitterly, looking anywhere but at his brother. Peter felt a surge of indignation. "That's not your decision to make," he said, voice forceful enough to make Edmund shrink. "And it wouldn't be what we deserve, either," he said, voice quieting. Edmund looked to him, at a loss. Peter licked his chapped lips nervously. "It's not fair to me or to your sisters for you to choose what you think you deserve, over us, again." He emphasized the last word, letting it hang in the air for a few moments, coloring Edmund's cheeks and causing him to turn his face away.

"We just got you back, Ed..." Peter's voice cracked, all the emotions he'd fought to control all morning and all night and all week finally coming free of his defenses, leaking out. His eyes welled up at the condition of his brother, and he sat back with a great sigh, putting his head in his hands in his helplessness.

He had failed.

Edmund did not move, his expression chastened. He felt ashamed of himself - Aslan had forgiven him completely, and he discredited it by continuing to suffer in his failure. He did not know how to communicate this to his brother; he felt so inadequate. He watched Peter like a hawk, waiting, eyes bright with tears unshed. The silence dragged on for what seemed like ages - two brothers, broken, both unsure how to heal the other. Peter sniffed, wiping his eyes briskly. Edmund dared not even breathe.

"It's not fair of me to be cross with you for the things you feel, either," Peter said at last, turning his eyes to the ground. "I didn't mean to be so harsh the second you returned home - I didn't know why I was feeling so many different emotions, and just like old times, I took it out on you." Tears slipped from Peter's eyes and fell to the grass, staining it dark. "And Edmund, I am so, so sorry for everything I have ever done to push you away and make you feel worthless to me. Because seeing you walk down that hill..."

At this point, Peter had no words. And nor did Edmund, watching his brother fall to raucous sobs as silent tears streaked down his own face, mouth open in shock and heart burning with regret. Peter thought this was his fault. Edmund struggled visibly, trying very hard to find a way to tell his brother that there was nothing he could do wrong, that Peter was perfect and right and just, and he was the one who was wrong. He was the one who needed Peter's forgiveness, not the other way around. Peter gasped, his cries stuttering his speech.

"Seeing you walk down that hill was everything to me. I hadn't realized how much I needed you until you were gone..."

The two sat, separated from each other, both hearts beating erratically and with much sorrow. Peter lifted his head, blue eyes piercing, so much so that Edmund swore his brother could see into his very soul. Edmund trembled, shaking with suppressed sobs, but his glance did not falter. There was a very long pause, filled with the sound of harsh, wet hiccuping.

"Peter..." Edmund started, voice breaking.

He found himself immediately in the warmth and comfort of his brother's arms - a place he had banished himself from for so long. He burst into tears again, clutching at his brother's shirt, burying his face in his neck and laying out the contents of his heart for Peter to clearly see. Peter tangled his fingers in Edmund's thick hair, smothering him in his embrace as he closed his eyes and thanked Aslan thousands upon thousands of times. There would be no more nights filled with uncertainty of his brother's survival. There would be no more sleepless nights where he would just lie awake staring at the empty hammock across from him, shedding quiet tears and simply willing Edmund to be there. He was finally home. He had finally come home. Peter ducked his head.

"I am so sorry, Ed."

Edmund squeezed his eyes shut, balling his fists and resenting those words with all his might. He wished they would go away.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Peter pulled away, looking at him dumbfounded. Edmund cut him off before he had a chance to argue.

"I knew what I was doing. I didn't realize the cost. I am the one who should be sorry, Peter. I really, really mucked this up." Tears continued to fall steadily, and he began to feel truly exhausted, his focus beginning to slip. He pressed on, stubborn. "I hated you, and I mocked you and scoffed at you and sold you out for candy, which I valued more highly than your life," he said dully, eyes dropping to the floor as the tears fell faster. He didn't want to look at Peter anymore; he didn't want to see the disappointment. "I got exactly what I deserved - if anything, I got less than what I should've. I'm so sorry I caused you to suffer because of what I did."

Much to Edmund's shock, Peter pulled him closer still. They both quieted, listening only to the sounds of the other breathing, Edmund pressing his head to Peter's heart, assuring himself that this was not just some wretched dream. Peter's raw, rumbling voice boomed against his ear.

"I forgive you, Edmund, and I love you."

That was all that was said for a long while. They were brothers again. He was no longer an enemy living in exile, but an accepted and loved part of a family. Peter pulled away from him at long last, assessing his condition. Peter was simply burning inside with the desire to dress his wounds, Edmund could tell, and he smiled weakly.

Edmund's heart felt worth once more.