"Book collecting is an obsession, an occupation, a disease, an addiction, a fascination, an absurdity, a fate. It is not just a hobby…" – Jeanette Winterson

"Be careful, Peter!" Edmund dashed forward, stopping his brother from entering his dorm room by slamming the door in his face. For sixteen minutes, Peter was forced to stand outside his brother's door in the hall while Edmund Pevensie rearranged his books so he could open it. Peter waited, and hearing no movement inside the room, knocked with just a casual hint of hesitancy.

"Might I be admitted now, brother?" he asked, trying to sound light. It was his misfortune that he had come for a visit when his brother was borrowing books from the library for study, buying books from shops, and "salvaging" books from the rubbish bins. Edmund always did that every second and fourth Saturday of the month, how could he have forgotten? He used to do it as often as he could at home during the Hols, but Mum had put a stop to that…

"Of course, just be careful around the books, now!" Edmund shouted from within the room, not even bothering to open the door for his brother after slamming it in his face.

Peter entered, removing his fedora and hefting his overcoat into the crook of his arm as he slid through the door, hesitant to open it all the way even now. Ducking in, silently closing the door, he looked around the room. Edmund was busily going about something at his desk in front of the window, and a lively fire was snapping in the hearth, in front of which a small table bore a tray of tea and biscuits.

And, as usual on this day, there were books on everything, even the bed. And, just as naturally, there was a good four-foot space between the hearth and the towers of books; Eddie and his books. The Just King would never change, Peter decided with a small grin and shake of his head. "So, whereabouts did you acquire…" Peter picked up one of the objects and read the title, "the… Homer's Iliad? Where in the world; Ed, now, you aren't taking these things from people's private libraries, are you?" he jested lightly, setting the book back down on its stack.

"Of course not, you idiot, I got that from a little shop down the way, about to be thrown into the lot to go to… wherever it is they destroy books, I suppose. I have someone who wants an Iliad, so don't worry, it won't be going on the shelf with the others." Edmund referred to the bookcase back home filled with books that he had extras of.

"Why do you do this, Edmund?" Peter asked, settling down on the arm of a chair as that was the only space free. His brother glanced up at him from his writing, a smudge of dust on his face and his dark hair ruffled and messy. "I mean, why don't you write something yourself instead of wasting time saving all these decrepit books? It's a dreadful hobby, and I've heard that some of the fellows here are starting to talk," Peter added, the look of concern coming to his face that annoyed Edmund considerably.

"Book collecting is not a hobby, Peter! It's– it's my obsession, as yours was the war for so many years!" Edmund jumped up, taking a stack of unorganized books and redoing them so that they all stood in proper order. Peter watched curiously.

"It's an occupation, as yours was being the head of a country!" Edmund picked up five books with jerky motions, only to set them down carefully placed on a shelf in the corner. A trace of a smile came to Peter's face as he turned a bit in his seat to watch his brother better.

"It's something of a disease, by the way, and I have no cure!" Edmund ranted, rolling his eyes as he put different books in different stacks and then made a new stack.

And…" He shook his head back and forth a bit with a half-frown on his face, as if reluctant to admit something, "it's sort of an addiction that I don't know how to overcome." He grabbed a biscuit from the plate on the tray and wolfed it down before reaching for a pen and paper and marking something down on the page. Peter's ghost-smile widened.

"It's a fascination; I cannot get over all the different versions and all the stories between their pages!" He whirled back to his brother, holding a book open long enough for Peter to read ". . . Hell is empty and all the devils are here . . ." before it was pulled away again. Edmund paused, half-bent over a stack of books, thinking for a moment. "It's totally and completely absurd, I know. But it's a fate, my fate." He smiled slightly– happily, amusedly.

After doing some more fiddling with a pile of books on his bed, he returned to his seat at the desk with a contented sigh, slouching down and looking around in satisfaction before meeting his brother's blue eyes with his brown. Edmund Pevensie was pleased to be in his element: surrounded by books. "Book collecting is never a hobby." He shuddered as he said the word, as if it were a swearword or something.

"I see," Peter remarked simply. Edmund's eyes found the fire in the hearth and he noticed it was looking in need of stoking. He jumped from his chair and went over to it. Hand resting on the mantelpiece, eyes staring intently into the fire as he prodded the logs with a poker, he muttered absently, "And besides, I've already tried writing stuff about stuff, it wasn't very good. I end up writing about Narnia, usually."

"Really? Whatever did you write about?" Peter stood suddenly, a keen, interested light coming into his eyes. Edmund glanced over at him.

"I don't think you'll want to read it, its bloody poor." He tried to shrug off what he'd just admitted doing.

"But you've written about Narnia?" Peter asked curiously.

"Yes," Edmund answered.

"I think I do want to see it." Peter cracked a half-smile, eyes sparking.

"Well all right then," Edmund allowed in rapid succession, jumping over a short wall of books and reaching under his bed. He pulled out a stack of paper with a pen atop it. Peter snickered under his breath.

"Don't judge the quills; it's the only way I can write of Narnia. Like I used to," he added, staring off fondly. Then he shook his head to pull himself out of the memory and thrust some pages at Peter. "You asked for it, so read," he demanded.

The two brothers stood there in the room as the light outside the window dimmed and evening came on. Edmund rested one elbow in the palm of his other hand and supported his chin on his fist as he watched his brother read with baited breath. The lamps were lit down in the square of the college dorm when Peter finally lowered the pages to look back at Edmund. Silence reigned, and Edmund did not ask his brother's opinion. He knew he must wait.

"Well…" Peter's voice was hoarse, as if he were trying to hold back tearful emotions. He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand across his mouth before speaking again. "Well, that was… wonderful, Ed– magical. I- I remember this part of Narnia again," he admitted, glancing down at the papers once more. As he bent over the pages, Edmund watched him, and a soft smile came to his face as he studied his brother. The pages he had given Peter had been about their coronation, and about the High King.

"Good," he whispered.

Peter looked up. "Oh, Ed, I miss it! I miss our home!" An agonized, distressed light came into his blue eyes, and Edmund hugged his brother. And Peter hugged his little brother back, in a room filled to bursting with books, because among books was where the Just King belonged. Always.

A/N:

This was completely unexpected, and just came up. For some reason, however, I kept seeing Edmund as doing Sherlock quirks. I don't know, just think of Sherlock BBC as you read, lol.

I think it was a nice brother moment between Edmund and Peter, however, and decided I should post it to DQfN, since I haven't posted any new chapters to this lately, forgive me! I have no idea where he would get the money to pay for these books, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with Digory Kirke.

It's reasonable that Edmund would be selling/giving away these books he salvages to people, as a shortage of paper during this time-period meant not a let of books were printed. So, there's some sense to that. Also, I managed to get two quotes in this chapter, since the "Hell is empty and all the devils are here" is by Shakespeare.

That quote sort of gives a double-meaning to this chapter, because it's a nod to my story Forbidden Desires, which centers around a Dark!Edmund. Anyway, please R&R,

WH