A/N: Okie dokie, then. I got a complaint about explaining everything in the author's note at the end of every chapter, so I have decided that if anyone has a question, they can send me a private message and I'll answer as quick as I can.

Savvy?

Oh yeah, I need your opinion on something. When Cifel is re-introduced, do you think I should have aged him a little? Because in the last story he appeared about nineteen, but I don't know whether he might have physically matured…what do you think?

Well, anyhow…

Oh YEAH! Cedric has absolutely nothing to do with the Harry Potter Cedric. Zilch, zit, nadda. I just like the name…

And yes, he is a prat. I wrote him that way.

Disclaimer: Narnia belongs solely to CS Lewis, and I sincerely hope he will not mind me borrowing his characters for a slight variation (cough cough) on his story.

Warnings: Nothing really. As ever, a little blood spilt.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

This is Edmund

Mistaken Perception

Part One: Late Arrivals

Chapter three: Distorted reflections

Dark.

Dark and cold.

Swirling blackness, wreaths of fire. Dancing charred banners in the moonlight, depicting a coat of arms.

Burnt out shells in the black recesses of the shadows, glowing embers illuminating their once proud structures. An embroidered golden flag at his feet, the yellowed thread stitching tainted with crimson blood. A lion. A lion stained with blood.

A scream.

A bloodcurdling scream.

His…own voice…?

EDMUND!

Peter's cry echoing and becoming swallowed in the oncoming shadows, dancing flames growing and roaring in his ears, cries and screams of indistinct volumes drowning his brother's voice.

Dark.

Cold.

Silent.

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Peter sat bolt upright in bed, his peaceful sleep vanishing as though it itself were a dream. He was neither in a cold sweat, nor was his heart racing. He felt…uneasy.

…Peter?

And then he knew the cause of his fear.

He leapt light out of bed and tumbled to the floor, scrambling awkwardly upright and slamming against the opposite wall. Some of the other occupants of the room groaned and tossed, but Peter ignored them.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why; but Edmund…

Something wasn't right.

There had been dark shadows in his sleep; yet it had not been his dream he had been watching, he knew. It was…different. Detached. Somebody else's thoughts and feelings were flitting across his own consciousness.

Edmund.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was out of the door and in the dark quiet of the corridor, and forcibly halted himself as he took an unsteady step towards his brother's dormitory.

Peter!

The voice again.

He didn't stop to think this time; merely flung himself forwards once again, bare feet slipping on the varnished surface of the floorboards.

He had just reached the door, when it flew open, and he caught the edge with gritted teeth to stop it from slamming loudly and waking the whole school. Mere seconds later, he was assaulted with a charging mass of little brother.

They fell to the floor in an awkward heap, Peter stifling his cry of pain and clapping a hand over Edmund's mouth as he saw his brother open his own mouth to emit a surprised yelp.

For several long moments, they simply stared, stunned, at each other.

"Peter?"

"Edmund!"

They said simultaneously.

Silence.

Peter blinked, and suddenly Edmund was clutching him, shaking. From fear, or sadness, Peter could not tell. Some higher power took over, and Peter ceased to think, allowing his heart to dictate his actions.

"S'alright Ed, its okay. You're fine, you're alright."

It was a lie.

Nothing was okay; nothing was alright. And it seemed to the boy's, who sat for many hours huddled together on the hard panelled floor, that it never would be.

How could anything ever be 'alright' again?

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Lucy sat neatly upon the windowsill, the moonlight casting dancing rays around the room. It seemed even more ethereal, unnatural, than the night when she had entered Narnia for the second time.

Her mother was weeping in the next room.

She had seen her; the door had been ajar, the tiny slit allowing Lucy to see her mother's hunched form, curled over as though in prayer, shuddering with sobs.

She shivered, and brought her legs up away from the floor to rest against her chest.

She had come here seeking solace; somehow, sitting so close to the reassuring presence of the wardrobe was…comforting. So many good, golden memories. But on the other hand…

They made her current situation seem all the worse.

But that was the way of things, she had learned; good could not be good without evil to contradict it. Happiness did not come without suffering.

But it didn't make the sufferance any the easier.

She was so terribly tempted; to just walk over to the structure, reach for the handle, and step inside. But she knew, if she did so, her last semblance of hope would be crushed as she slammed stinging fists against the hard wooden back.

Besides, she couldn't leave her mother. Not when she needed her so much.

Though she wasn't sure whether it was she who needed her mother…or her mother who needed her.

Well, whichever it may be…she couldn't sound one more moment of this ringing silence, punctuated only by her mother's grief.

And with that resolution, she scrambled off the windowsill and stood for a moment on the hard panelled floor, drawing a deep breath. She then walked calmly from the room, not daring to turn as she closed the door behind her.

She slept beside her mother that night; though even as morning broke and Helen Pevensie slept exhaustedly beside her daughter, Lucy did not feel the darkness lift.

It seemed forever black and cold, unending, stretching as far as the eye could see. And Lucy had no glimmering light to guide her way.

She was lost.

And there was nobody left to find her.

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Edmund sat perfectly still in the lightening corridor, watching the dawn break through the stained glass windows, casting dancing coats of arms across the floor before him.

Peter sat hunched beside him, slumped against him in dreamless sleep with his head atop Edmund's. The soft sound of light breathing and the feeling of his brother's chest rising and falling slowly beside him calmed him, at least a little.

But he did not sleep.

Thoughts and emotions swirled in endless turmoil, washing over him and beating at his insides in a feverish battle. It kept replaying over and over in his mind, letters and words mixing together, a bodiless voice whispering within his mind.

His father's voice.

Dear Edmund,

I don't know if you will ever receive this letter; and I sincerely hope you never have to. But, in the case that you are actually reading this, please understand one thing before I begin:

I am sorry, and I never meant to hurt you.

No doubt Peter has already given you the watch I enclosed. You may not remember, but when you were about four you asked if you could have it, one day. I know the strap may be a little big, but I'm sure you'll grow into it. If you haven't already of course.

God, but this is so strange. There is so much I want to say, yet so little time. There is mere hours before the shelling begins once more. But I shall finish this; I will say what must be said.

Edmund, I realise that you have always resented that Peter resembles me. And I beg of you, do not hold it against him, now that I am gone. And know that, terrible as it may be, I have always kept a very special place in my heart for you; you look so like your mother, it is uncanny.

I know life has not been good to you, son. Being the third child is never an easy position to bear. But know this: the day you were born, your brother made me a very solemn promise. Naïve as he was at the time, I firmly believe he strives to carry it through till the day he dies:

'Don' worry, Dadda. I'll pr…prodent…look after the baby. Nuffin will happen to him nor Mummy, I promise!'

I expect you are angry at me; possibly at your mother, and your siblings too. Please, Edmund, do not turn them away on my account. If you wish to blame anybody, blame me. I have failed you all.

And most especially failed you, Edmund. I love you all so much; it hurts to even think of any of you. My one light, guiding hope in the darkness is that you can learn to love each other as much as I love you.

Be strong; be strong for your mother, and for me. Be strong for Susan, Lucy and Peter, and they shall find strength in you. And you shall find strength in them.

Do that…and maybe my death will not be such a failure. I love you more than words can say, my son.

And I only wish that that was enough.

Your loving Father,

Henry J. Pevensie

Edmund was too exhausted to summon the strength to feel pain. He clenched his fist in the coarse material of Peter's shirt, feeling a molten anger fill his veins, clouding his mind with a haze of emotion.

He began to shake.

How could he? How could he just leave them, without a father, their mother broken by grief? How dare he…

And he claimed to love them…

He had torn the letter to shreds, the pieces now lying strewn in a scene of devastation across his pillow.

Far away, a cockerel sounded a screeching call, announcing the beginning of a new day to the sleeping world.

And so the dawn broke.

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"Alea jacta est. Repeat after me: Al-ea, jac-ta, est.

"Alea jacta est."

Edmund muttered the immediate response automatically, allowing his face to sink further into his arms. Mr Zerga, Head of the Languages department, could quite possibly bore the tail off Aslan himself.

He muttered under his breath a rhyme he had once seen written in Peter's school books; he had a sneaking suspicion it had been written by Cedric.

"Latin is a language

As dead as dead can be

It killed the ancient Briton's

And now its killing me."

There was a low chuckle next to him, and Edmund turned his head slowly to look up at the boy sitting next to him.

He had a strange feeling…he had seen him before.

Oh, the boy who had looked down his nose at him at the station…dark curly hair, pointy features.

'Just like you, Ed. Five minutes in and your already making enemies!'

Maybe Peter had been right (as if he ever wasn't). Now the boy was so close to him, Edmund didn't think it was such a great idea to confront him. He had an icy glint in his eye which reminded Edmund painfully of the witch.

King Edmund the Just would not have stood for such intimidation; but Edmund Pevensie was not quite so valiant.

"I've seen you. You're that smart assed kid who was with Pevensie at the station."

It was more of a statement than a question. Uttered softly, a low, calm but somehow menacing hiss which slipped beneath the Latin teacher's warbling tone. The boy leant back in his chair, languidly stretching long, lanky limbs with an adolescent crack.

Edmund suppressed a shudder and tried to keep his face neutral, awaiting the inevitable follow up. The boy leant over his book, flipped over the cover, and read the name scribbled hastily on the inside page.

"So. You're his brother."

Edmund said nothing; not rising to the bait. But he was so recklessly miserable, he didn't really care if the boy was older, or stronger than he was.

"You gonna give me as much trouble as he did?"

Edmund blinked, and frowned. What on earth did that mean? The boy chuckled deeply once again, and turned his piercing eyes away to stare at the front of the class.

"Peter Mark Isaac Pevensie. The only guy in the entirety of this school who can look me in the eye and dare to show his hatred."

Edmund wasn't sure what to think. Infuriating as this arrogant boy was, in order to gain such status he must be quite powerful. Edmund knew full well it would be best just to keep his nose clean and steer clear.

But since when had Edmund ever done what was best for him?

On the contrary, danger was somewhat intriguing to him. And right now, with the hundreds of conflicting emotions inside of him…he could do with something to direct it at.

Edmund raised a delicate eyebrow and turned to look at the boy, amused.

"You expect him to be afraid of an arrogant kid like you? Don't make me laugh."

The boy's eyes flashed, and Edmund felt an intoxicating sense of triumph fill him, overturning his grief. Yes, this was what he needed. Relief. Power over others, exerted to gain respect.

"You listen good, Pevensie. I've been waiting for a long time to get Peter Pevensie back for what he did to me. I've been stuck in this year of schooling for far too long, thanks to him. And if you get in my way, I'll crush you as I once crushed him."

Edmund took this information in, and carefully filed it away for future perusal. This was…interesting. Perhaps this year would not be as boring as he had previously thought.

Edmund leant his chin on his upturned hand and smirked, staring at the boy with a condescending, aloof air.

"If that's what you'd like to believe; go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

The boy's eyes swiveled slowly around to gaze at Edmund's own, and Edmund could not help the smallest shiver as a sadistic gleam swirled in their dark depths.

"You just watch your back, Pevensie. Some rather…unpleasant things happen to people who don't know their place around here."

Edmund's eyes narrowed as he saw a taunting sneer curl the boy's thin lips.

"But you of all people should understand that. Tell me; how did low life trash like you manage to sneak in? Did your mother sleep with the Headmaster, or something?"

Perhaps it was a good thing the bell rang at that moment. If it hadn't, Peers Jordan, for the second time in his life, would have found his nose broken, courtesy of a Pevensie.

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Did the last sentence make sense? Dear oh dear, what has angelic (cough cough) Peter been up to in his school life?

From observation of reactions to the death of a close one, the immediate repercussion is shock. Then anger. Strange, but true.

A/N: A lot of people have been itching for me to make Edmund 'slap some sense' into Peter. Remember what happened last time? Well, if you don't, I'll reiterate: last time, Edmund quite literally slapped Peter back to reality.

Peter: (extremely concerned for his own well being) This is NOT going to be good…

I fear it may take something just as shocking to do it again…

(Maniacal laugh)

Ahem, anyway…review, and you will have done your good deed for the day and can therefore run off to scoff chocolate without fear that the computer chair will collapse under your weight when you return.

Come on, you know you want to!