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

Author's Note: Um…wow ::blinks and rubs head sheepishly::. The end of this chapter went in a totally different direction than I had planned. But you know…::smiles sheepishly:: I think I really like it. It starts exploring the darker and deeper thoughts that Helen may not necessarily share with her children—and I love it! I hope you do, too! Happy Easter!

Reviewers: All 128 of you, thank you!

Rating: T/M (for intensity of the issues dealt with)

Summary: It is four very different children Helen Pevensie greets at the train station after they have returned from the countryside…(Book and Moviebased) (Familyfic) (NO Slash) (PREQUEL TO NIGHTTIME DEMONS)

"Speech"

'Personal Thoughts (Italics)'

Memories/Quotes (Italics)

.:Helen's Children:.

By Sentimental Star

Protection

Helen discovers what happened later, after the family doctor leaves their home. It is nothing she finds unexpected: Edmund got into a fight; recently, not an uncommon occurrence when it comes to her youngest son.

The reason why he fought, however, is another matter entirely: to defend Lucy and Susan.

It is something she has difficulty fathoming—he has never shown any protective tendencies towards the girls, that usually fell in Peter's lap. He has never been particularly close with his sisters, and the one person he had been close to, aside from his brother, is across the English Channel, fighting overseas.

So when her daughters give her more details, Helen is shocked to find herself inclined to agree with Peter: what Edmund did is utterly foolish. Noble, selfless, brave…but utterly foolish.

The story as Helen understands it is horrifying enough: an older boy was trying to have his way with Susan. Unable to simply sit by and watch, Lucy had stepped in to defend her beloved older sister. It is something she has done countless times before, in Narnia, but their mother does not know that. Here, Lucy is all of eight years of age—nine, next spring—and no matter how brave that eight-year-old may be, she is still no match (in England, anyway) for a fifteen-year-old boy.

Neither is Edmund, for that matter, but as Helen can plainly see, that does nothing to deter him.

Wearily, their mother sighs, rubbing her face with her hands and slowly climbing up the stairs: the questions are piling up, and growing more disturbing by the hour. She has found herself seesawing all day—caught between elation and horror. The changes are wonderful and disturbing all at once, and she does not know whom to speak to or even, what about.

Logically, Helen realizes she should speak with her children, but the sheer volume of revelations today has her doubting she can handle anymore.

As she peeks around the partially open door to Edmund's room, however, she begins to understand that it is something she should get used to: Peter is sitting on Edmund's bed and her other son—her surly, standoffish, sour Edmund—is curled against his older brother's hip, sound asleep and absolutely at peace with the world.

Helen watches, hardly breathing, as Peter's fingers ghost through Edmund's hair and across his cheek. The tenderness in his touch causes her heart to clench, and she does not dare look up at her older son's face, too afraid to see the unrestrained cherishing she knows must be there.

Peter would have been the logical first choice to go to, as even after only one day, she understands that he has become the central figure in his siblings' lives. Especially so for Edmund, who himself is so completely comfortable in his older brother's presence that he sleeps without inhibition.

It is something Helen, and even her husband, has never managed, and she can barely see for the tears blurring her sight. Any heart she may have built up to ask him what has changed his siblings so much has vanished, and she turns, meaning to leave for her own room or Susan's.

But before she can creep away, Peter's voice calls out softly to her, "Mum?"

IOIOIOIOIOI

Helen does not feel like she belongs when she steps into her younger son's room. Immediately, she notices that the tension which had hung thick like fog between her two sons, even when sleeping, in the months preceding their departure for the countryside, is simply…not there anymore. It has completely disappeared.

The second thing she notices is rather more heartbreaking: Peter's hand has (unconsciously) clenched on his younger brother's shoulder.

Helen tries to ignore it—as well as the rather sudden urge she has to start apologizing profusely, for whatever it is that has made Peter fear her so.

"Peter?" she murmurs, hesitantly walking over to the bed. Gingerly, she sits down on the mattress beside her eldest son, but stops just short of reaching out to touch his hand.

Visibly, Peter forces himself to relax, taking a deep breath and slowly loosening his grip on Edmund's shoulder. "It…it's all right, Mum," he smiles faintly at her. "Ed would have been awake five minutes ago, except that he wore himself out with all that excitement this afternoon."

Helen notices that his hand has clenched again—not quite so hard this time, but it is quite clearly shaking. It reminds her of what happened before that "excitement" this afternoon, and of the way Peter's face looked when she asked after his brother.

'What can you have possibly done…to feel that much guilt?' she wonders sadly.

"Peter?" she murmurs again. Peter looks up from where he has been intently studying Edmund's face, and Helen's chest tightens at the wariness that is partially hidden at the back of his gaze. "Why…would Edmund attack Mrs. Carmichael's son? I thought they were…friends?"

Arguably, she knows the answer—to defend his sisters. But that is not what she is asking: her question is more, why would Edmund attack the other boy…when usually that is how Peter responds.

Her oldest son knows this, just as he knows that she has never approved of the Carmichael boy in the first place.

Nonetheless, Helen is quite startled when another sad smile lights up Peter's face.

"A lot changed in the countryside, Mum," he murmurs. "But if I were to tell you…" he glances away, using his blonde bangs to hide his eyes, "I doubt you would believe me."

There is a sharp, unexpected flash of irritation, and Helen feels like saying, "Try me," but a moment later, with an equally sharp flash of shame, she realizes how childish that would be.

…Which brings up a new and utterly alarming train of thought: is she jealous of Peter? After all, he has achieved something that Helen has never been able to.

Peter must sense something because, ever so subtly, he begins to back away, loosening his grip even more on Edmund's shoulder.

At that moment, Edmund stirs, cracking his eyes open and peering up hazily at his older brother. "Pete…" he yawns widely, "Peter?"

Tbc.