He had some semblance of understanding that it was normal. Yet, Edmund could not help but feel largely befuddled and oftentimes disgusted by his peers' need to openly investigate their interests in the girls at St. Finbar's. Even Peter, to Edmund's everlasting exasperation, had gone all doll dizzy. The only relief there, was that the eldest Pevensie son at least seemed a little more picky with the girls he pursued.

It was not as though he did not understand. He was not blind to the fact that girls like Daisy Applebaum and Emma Bishop were, on an entirely earthly level, pretty. In fact, they both went out of their way to remind him that they had grown into promising young women whenever he waited for his sisters after school was finished for the day, batting their eyelashes and tittering. What was completely lost on him, was why the entire student population of both Hendon House and St. Finbar's seemed offended that he had not acknowledged their interest in him.

James Bishop, aforementioned Emma's older brother, was particularly insistent. More often than he liked, Edmund found himself trapped in salacious conversations with his friends, where the state of virtue of each and every girl that crossed their paths was brought up. Having been a king at the side of two powerful girls, who alongside him had been tutored by a third powerful girl, he contributed as little as possible, often berating his mates for their decidedly ungentlemanly topic of conversation.

"You know, Ed, if you just got yourself a bird, you'd understand," James proclaimed, clasping his shoulder a little harder than necessary. "My sister's starting to think you'll never give her the time of day."

Now, Edmund knew better. The diplomat in him scolded him even before the sentence had fully left his mouth. "I wasn't planning to," he stated calmly. "I prefer ethereal, not tarty." He could practically see how Adeline pinched the bridge of her nose, a heavy sigh slipping past her lips. James' expression slackened before contorting into a furious grimace. Edmund, trained to avoid dangers far worse than a sloppy, uncontrolled punch, ducked.

His friends never brought up girls around him again, for which he was grateful.

The same could not be said for his mother. Somehow, she was worse, to the point where Edmund almost preferred the leering inquiries into his love life. With the war still raging, his mother was determined to have her children settled into a promising relationship that guaranteed grandchildren. She had been moderately successful with Peter, whose several lady loves were nice enough until he decided they bored him. Edmund knew the standard to which his brother held the girls and wondered if he would ever actually find someone good enough.

Susan did well enough on her own, and Lucy was still just a touch too young. Which left Helen Pevensie's attentions focused on her youngest son. Her first attempt at finding a girl for him had been an unmitigated disaster, partly because Edmund did not seem to realise that Ellie Hampton had been invited to a tea party not as a friend of Susan's but as a prospect for him. The whole thing had ended with poor Ellie being unceremoniously shoved off of him when she attempted to kiss his cheek in farewell.

Margaret Stump had done no better. Helen had invited the girl's family to supper, primarily because her husband and Mr. Stump were colleagues. Noting that Margaret was Edmund's age, she had been unable to resist the opportunity to seat them beside each other. That had been her mistake. All through the meal, Edmund would quietly correct the girl's stature and table manners, often more snidely than necessary. She had been in near tears by the time her family left, and Edmund had promptly been grounded for his atrocious behaviour.

Her son's manners greatly confused her. He had admittedly been a bit of a horror in childhood, something which had changed after spending time with the delightful Professor Kirke in the country the year prior. Since, he had been courteous and polite and he got along better with his siblings. Until just recently, where he still got along with the other children while simultaneously reverted back to his impolite self in company of nice young ladies.

In hopes of rectifying her mistake with Margaret, Helen introduced Annie Smithers to her son while they were attending a gala at her husband's place of work. While an intelligent girl, who played chess and liked to read and cook, Annie was quite beautiful, with excellent genes that would ensure equally attractive grandchildren she could be proud of. And after introducing them, it seemed to work. Edmund was eager to discuss chess and literature with her.

At some point in the night though, his entire demeanour switched. Helen watched as her son and Annie leaned closer to one another, and she eagerly awaited an innocent kiss which would evidence Edmund's interest, only to openly gape as he suddenly pushed the girl away. Intending to go after him, Helen found herself intercepted by Peter and Susan, who coerced her into allowing Edmund some time to calm himself.

Once they arrived back home, Helen could no longer keep her tongue. "Edmund Pevensie, I must admit to being horrified by your behaviour," she scolded, rounding on him the second the door closed behind them. "I have tried to be patient with you, but I really cannot accept this any longer." She was further infuriated by the fact that he did not even appear to be listening to her. Sharply, she ordered her other children off to bed, waiting until she was alone with her youngest son until she spoke again. "You are fifteen years of age, Edmund, it is about time that you found yourself a nice, young lady and started building the foundations for a long, happy marriage!"

Breathing growing harsher by the second, fists clenched at his sides, Edmund felt all the pressure of the past several months accumulate into that one moment. All the mocking inquiries about his lack of a girlfriend from his mates, the failed attempts at matchmaking by his mother, Daisy and Emma's clumsy flirtations… he could not take it any longer. "Did it ever occur to you, Mum, that you have not the slightest idea about what I want," he snapped, nearly startled by his own vehemence. "Did you ever think that, perhaps I am the best judge of what I want or need?" His mother looked as though he had struck her but Edmund could not for the life of him bring himself to care.

"What you need is a nice, proper young lady who can be a good wife for you!"

"What I want is a spitfire who will fight with me even when I'm right just because we have fun debating with each other," he exclaimed loudly. "Someone who will put me in my place and challenge me and stay up with me all night watching the stars." His entire body was trembling. Edmund felt as though he was on the brink of something, something he had not anticipated. "I want the one who knows me, all of me, and loves me even though she's aware of all the horrible mistakes I've made!" His mother looked as stunned as he felt. A brick could have hit him in the head, a Telmarine could have appeared wielding a sword, and he would not have noticed. He was rooted to the floor, trying to digest the weight and meaning behind his words. How could he have been so blind? Edmund left his mother standing in the hallway, stormed past his father on the stairs, and rushed into his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Peter, having heard the argument, not that anyone possibly could have missed it, sighed as he listened to his parents harshly whispering to one another at the bottom of the stairs. His mother was near tears, wondering where she had gone wrong with Edmund, while his father stated that it was not her fault, that Edmund's behaviour was a result of poor discipline on his part. Unable to listen any longer as they started to consider sending him away to a disciplinary school, Peter ducked into Edmund's room.

The younger brother paid no heed to the older though. He was pacing, back and forth at the foot of his bed, his breathing ragged. Peter let him keep at it, crossing the room to sit on the armchair in the corner. "Where did Annie go wrong," he asked quietly, "She was nice."

"Annie was amazing," Edmund replied desperately, "She just wasn't right."

A corner of Peter's mouth twitched upwards. "No, there were some pieces missing," he agreed idly, throwing his legs over one armrest of the chair while leaning his back against the other, "It was the eyes that set you off, wasn't it?" Edmund shot him a glare before continuing his pacing. Unable to help himself, Peter chuckled. "We could all see that you were about to kiss her, Ed," he continued, well aware that his brother did not find him to be particularly helpful, "Her demureness could be passed off, as we were in public, but the eyes… you couldn't get past those, could you?" Edmund slumped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Peter took pity on him. While he himself held girls to her standard, his brother outright compared them to her, even if he only just minutes before realised why. "You want gold eyes and wicked smiles and the scent of sunshine and wildflowers."

Edmund shot up into a sitting position, staring wide-eyed at his brother. "How did you—"

"You say it in your sleep sometimes," Peter responded quietly, "Once, you fell asleep in the sitting room in front of the fire and you said it." He shrugged. "I think Mum heard you and deduced that you were ready to be matched, rather than thinking that you might've found one already."

"I don't—"

Standing, Peter ruffled his brother's hair, for old time's sake. "You'll figure it out," he said, giving Edmund a reassuring smile. "Just… apologise to Mum, okay?"

Knowing that his mother, though misguided, had meant well, he did as Peter suggested at the breakfast table the next morning. Quietly, he led his parents to believe that he had simply been caught off guard and that he did not yet feel ready to explore the romantic aspect of his life. His mother had conceded, promising to leave him be.

Not that Edmund was given all that much time to contemplate his feelings for his best friend anyway. Just a few weeks later, his father announced that he would be travelling to America. A trip on which Peter and Susan would be allowed to come along for, while Edmund and Lucy would be sent to Cambridge to live with their Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold. Unfortunately for Edmund, that meant he had to share a room with their cousin, Eustace Clarence Scrubb, an evil little boy with a penchant for putting his nose where it did not belong and then justifying it by pretending that he was smarter. On several occasions over the years, even after his rather drastic change of personality, Edmund longed to wring the little goblin's neck.

One of those occasions threw itself in his way just a month after they first arrived. Edmund had been sitting in the garden with Lucy, actually finding some peace for a change, when the Menace had made himself known.

"Did you know that you talk in your sleep, Cousin," he asked snottily. "It's a sign of lower intellect, not that I expected you to know that." He circled around them, clutching his journal tightly. If there was one thing Eustace was always better at than his cousins, apart from everything, of course, it was hearing things people did not want him to. Another side-effect of his superior mind. "What's an Adeline, and is it aware that it has a hideous name?" He flinched back when Edmund clutched the armrests of his chair and went to stand. His annoying cousin Lucy stopped him though. He had noticed that, out of the two, Edmund was easier to rile up, making him a perfect target. "Ohh, this Adeline must be a part of that stupid make believe of yours," he concluded, backing slowly as a shadow fell over the older boy's face. "What, are you so desperate for attention that you had to make someone up?"

Edmund was on his feet in an instant, clutching Eustace's collar tightly. "Listen here, you little imp, if you ever come face to face with Adeline, I hope for your sake that you drop the attitude," he growled. "She's never tolerated insolence." He shoved his cousin away, watching him scamper inside as quick as his legs could carry him. Still grousing darkly to himself, he ignored Lucy's reprimanding gaze.

The longer they had to stay at the Scrubbs' house in Cambridge, the more certain Lucy became that they would not last the entire time without Edmund actually, unintentionally or not, killing Eustace. She had seen her brother reach for his left side several time, reaching for a sword. So, when a letter from Susan, which mostly contained gushing words about how lovely America was, announced that they would be forced to stay another few months, Lucy knew she needed to take drastic action to prevent Edmund from committing murder.

Looking up from the letter, she saw her brother studying a painting intently. "It looks very Narnian," she stated, nodding to the painted ship atop the still waves. "It makes me think of Adeline's stories about the Great East Ocean." At the mention of their blonde friend, Lucy ducked her head, waiting for Edmund's outburst. Since the confrontation with Eustace at the beginning of their stay, he had been sensitive regarding Adeline.

"It's just another reminder that we're here," he grumbled. "She's waiting for us, Lu."

Putting a placating hand on his shoulder, Lucy nodded sadly. "I miss her too," she whispered, before a slight smile took over her features, "Have you thought about what to say to her?" Without looking, she knew Edmund's cheeks were burning. Sometimes she would catch him reaching up to touch the spot where Adeline had kissed him the last time they saw her. "Will you confess your undying love and ask her to marry you?"

"Shut it," Edmund barked. "Right now, I just want to focus on getting there at all."

"You know, I have half a mind to write to Aunt Helen about having you evaluated, the way you keep going on about your delusions."

Growling again, as he often did when Eustace was around, Edmund whirled around. "You haven't really shown that you have more than half a mind at all," he spat. "Get out."

"Edmund…"

Undeterred, but aware of the risks, Eustace stepped farther into the room. He turned his nose up at the painting Lucy was staring at. "What's so special about a painting anyway, it's atrocious."

"Lucky for you, there just so happens to be a door through which you won't be able to see it," Edmund bit out, channeling Adeline to the best of his ability. "Get out and close it, and you'll be free of it."

"Edmund, the water," Lucy gasped. "I think it's actually moving!"

Ignoring his sister, Edmund advanced on their cousin, who shrank back in his seat on Lucy's bed. "But then, you'll still see that same atrociousness whenever you come across a mirror, won't you," he said, hands balling up as he prepared to pounce. "I can fix that for you, rearrange your face to make a far more pleasant image." Eustace was nearly lying down, but before Edmund could make good on his threat, Lucy's voice cut through his rage.

"Edmund!"

He turned to her, feeling a strange breeze flit through the room. It smelled of sea salt and, he realised with a pang in his heart, sunshine. Lucy was right. The painting was moving. The ship was coming closer towards them and water was starting to slosh over the picture frame. Behind him, Eustace squealed like a stuck pig.

"What is this trickery," he shouted. "Cease it immediately!" Noting than neither of his cousins were really listening, both of them staring at the hideous picture in awe, he decided to take the matter into his own hands. He darted between them, lifting it off its hook. It was strangely heavy and as he felt Edmund's arm wrap around his throat in an attempt to choke him, he dropped it. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thud and the water seemed to fill the room even faster.

Lucy knew better than her cousin. She could feel it tingling just beneath her skin, that familiarity she had felt at the train station a year prior when they had been whisked off to aid Caspian. Magic. Half the room was filled with water, yet, save for the moment when she slipped and fell, Lucy was completely at ease. She was a strong swimmer and trusted the magic to take them where they needed to be.

Needless to say, the same could not be said for Eustace. As they all took water over their heads, he flailed desperately, trying to get to the surface as fast as he could.

Heart beating like a horde of galloping centaurs, Edmund looked around in the water as he realised that the room had disappeared. Sunshine filtered through from above, a strikingly familiar sun that he cherished. And he knew. They were back in Narnia. He would get to see Adeline again. Though, for the first time, that thought did nothing to calm his racing heart.