I only wanted to know what psychosomatic meant, when I found a new word that inspired me… Drat! By the way, the BBC version of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe is hilarious; plus Susan is blonde and Edmund is ginger, the White Witch looks hideous, the animation is terrible and yet so funny, along with other stuff. Don't get me wrong, I own it, but it really is so bad you have to see it! Anyone seen the 70's animation? The BBC thing is better than that, to be fair, and more accurate than the film… Plus it was made in 1988.
Finally: pickled onions and can-squirted cream do NOT go. Ick.

Title: Redivivus
Summary: Perhaps it was worth the hurt he brought…!Narnia LWW BBC Drama-verse, one-shot!
Warnings: None? NOT SLASH, the comment about "his older brother's touch" means a cuddle, alright? I want no incest-y thoughts here today! For a final emphasis on this particular story (as others of mine may end up being so), NOT SLASH! It's also very obscure and a bit patchy… Oops. Just my style, I suppose…

Redivivus: living again; brought back to life; revived; restored.

Peter's face fell. He and his sisters had rushed outside upon hearing the news of their brother's return, but to see the solemn face of the younger boy was odd, to say the least. Peter could honestly say he had never seen the expression on Edmund before, and he knew that it meant something bad. Aslan's expression was difficult to decipher, what with his being a lion and everything, but the oldest Pevensie realised he was saddened about something.

Didn't he want Edmund to return?

"Here is your brother," Aslan said after what seemed like a lifetime of suspense, each child watching the others. As an afterthought, the Great Lion nudged Edmund to go to his siblings.
"There is no need to talk about what is past," he finished, before turning away to leave the children to their own devices. Peter scanned the Lion's face for any sign of what was going through his mind, but found none. Instead, he turned to Edmund, whose face was far too pale for his liking.

Better start to worry, Peter thought.

Then Edmund did something unexpected.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding like a vulnerable child. Peter stared at him sceptically for a moment, then closed his eyes and looked at the ground. All he wanted to do was yell at Edmund and make him understand the concern they had all felt for his safety after he left them. However, it was clear that Edmund wasn't up to such harassment at this point.

Swallow it up, Peter. He's your little brother. Do the right thing.

Sighing, the brunette looked up and plastered a fake smile on his face.
"That's alright," he replied, shaking a disbelieving Edmund's hand. He watched the redhead as he repeated his apology to his sisters, who both hugged him in return.
Peter managed to keep the surprise from his face.
Edmund's smile had no sign of the usual smugness or cruelty to it; instead, it was a genuinely grateful and regretful smile, which worried him greatly.

Why, I haven't seen that since Edmund left for that rotten school a few years back!

The four walked into a clearing, each of the three siblings holding onto Edmund, as if to stop him from disappearing once again. Peter, however, had another reason that he kept to himself.
The children sat talking for a while, each amazed at how Edmund had changed. It was clear from the way he talked, his words without sarcasm, how his eyes glittered with life instead of the blank dullness that had plagued them for what seemed like forever, how he carried himself, devoid of the false bravado. Edmund listened to his siblings talk, truly enjoying himself it seemed, but whenever he thought the others weren't looking, he turned to watch the trees.

Redivivus

It was dark.

Edmund lay staring at the roof of the tent in which himself and Peter were sharing. He felt rather restless, unable to shake of the feeling of being watched. He was unused to sleeping out-of-doors and was extremely nervous, so his mind was exaggerating the smallest sounds, playing on his fears. Even knowing Aslan was near had yet to ease his troubled mind…

A long skirt brushing along the grass… Just the wind in the leaves.
A dwarf scurrying along the outside of the tent, holding a whip… Bushes and vines.
The sound of a knife, being sharpened on a stone… It's… It's…

"Peter?" he finally called out, voice small and weak. He was sure his brother was asleep, and so was surprised to hear him reply.
"Are you alright, Ed?"
Edmund got up and scurried to his brother, laying next to him and curling up in a ball. He didn't care if Peter thought less of him at that moment (How can anyone think less of a traitor? That's as low as you can go, his mind supplied, as it had on his journey to the Witch's 'house'); he needed the comfort of his older brother's touch.

Peter stared wide eyed for a moment at his younger brother, before pulling his blanket over the lad and wrapping his arms around him. It was as if Edmund had been taken back to his primary school days, after a nasty beating from the bullies. Edmund had always been so timid in his pre-teen years; always shying from fights and attempting to make friends, but no one wanted to be his friend, calling him names and teasing him about his height, his hair, his reading glasses…

Peter suddenly realised Edmund was crying.

"Shh, Ed. It's alright, you're fine. Come on now," he whispered, stroking Edmund's soft ginger hair.
"N-no it's not," Edmund sobbed. "It will n-never be alr-right."
"And why is that?"
Edmund raised his head and looked at his brother in shock. Peter could barely see Edmund in the light, but he knew how the red tear streaks would stain his face; how his eyes creased from fear; how he cringed, expecting a blow for being childish…
"How?" he asked. In that one simple word, Edmund demanded the answers to a thousand questions.

How can you forgive me so easily?

How can youbear to look at me?

How did it come to this?

"Because you're my little brother, and whether you like it or not, I care for you. We all do. You can hit, whine, scream, complain and hurt us all you want, but we shan't leave you to the vultures."
Edmund sniffed. "She's coming for me, you know."
Peter nodded. "I know. But she won't split us apart again."
Peter gently guided Edmund down onto the ground once again and held him tightly.

"Go to sleep, Edmund. She won't get you here."

The soft snores heard moments later relieved the brunette.

He lay there for a while longer, stroking his little brother's hair to remind him that he really was there and it wasn't a dream. Smiling softly, he recalled something his father had once told him...

"The phoenix, a mythological fire-bird, has a rare and extraordinary gift," Colin Pevensie said, eyes laughing as his oldest child struggled to stay awake to hear his tale. "It lives far longer than any creature to walk the earth and gives birth in the most bizarre way."
"How's that, Father?" little Peter asked, rubbing at his eyes.
"It bursts into flames, and from the ashes rises a new bird!"
Peter looked at his father sceptically. "Animals don't blow up, Dad."
"This one does. Everyone knows that, ask anyone you like!" the adult replied, unaware that one day his younger son would repeat the same phrase. "In doing so, it passes on everything it learned to its child. But there's something even better."
He stroked his son's hair and shifted him in his arms, to ensure the boy was comfortable enough to sleep.
"Even if the phoenix was badly treated and somehow became cruel like those who mistreated it, which is against the very nature of its kind, then the child would be born free of the problems of its parent. It would learn from its parent's mistakes and go on to live a happy life."

The third Pevensie child was like a phoenix, rising from the ashes of its forebearer. The older boy knew his brother would grow to be a fair and just young man, as he had been once before.
"Sweet dreams, Ed," Peter muttered softly, allowing himself to join his brother in the land of slumber, safe in each others arms. The White Witch may try to take him away, but she wouldn't succeed.

Edmund, the real Edmund, had been reborn and was there to stay.

Aw, how utterly disgustingly sweet. I'm sick. I've never written anything like that before. Urgh. That was nauseating. And, to me, it seemed rather slashy (possibly as I'm obsessed with slash… Heh eh…). Just wondering: how old do you think I am? I've always wondered if, when I write, I seem older than I actually am, so please mention how old you think I am when you review! Please review! I love comments! Thank you for reading, and once again, please review!
Yours, Straitjackit (soon-to-be ruler of Earth)