A/N: Wow, this is becoming like daily life…run home from school, get on computer, read reviews, plot gleefully, write chapter. How nice to finally have a proper daily routine!
I won the strawberry yogurt, by the way. It wasn't easy…
Anyone who knows where I could get some Narnia quotes from the movie would be greatly revered! I can't remember half the stuff I wanted to use as inspiration…help?
I also now own Prince Caspian on cassette tape! Bought it from the BBC…I recommend you go read it. Although it doesn't go into half as much details as I seem to, it has some nice Edmund Peter brotherly love (everybody aw!)
And now, I present…
Chapter twenty nine
Dear Mum,
We finally arrived at the Professor's house at about quarter past four yesterday, though I suppose by the time you read this it'll be weeks ago. The journey was fine, if a little boring. Susan studied her chemistry books, Lu read the new books you bought her. I think she's close to finishing them now, but she really enjoyed them and wants me to say thank you for her.
I am a little worried about Edmund. He seems to be taking the whole thing rather much harder than I expected. I do try, Mum, but it's so hard when he won't listen to me. He wants so much to be…well, in truth I'm not sure. I want to help so badly, but he only wants you, or Dad. Have you received news from him? Is he alright? And yourself? Are you well?
It rained the first proper day here. I got a bit of a headache, but otherwise I was fine. We keep hearing terrible reports over the wireless, and I can't tell you how worried we all are. Susan especially spends hours holed up with a book. Not that she doesn't usually, but this is different. I know. And Lu…well, she's been acting a little strange. I think she's just homesick, though, so don't worry Mum. I'll look after them. Yes, even when Edmund is a brat.
The professor is a little strange, but nice enough. We have our very own whip master in the form of Mrs Macready. She's a beast, and is very strict, and has a strong Welsh accent rather like Grandmother's. It is very different here, but the countryside is lovely and the fresh air is doing wonders for all our health. The food is much more wholesome, too.
We're all missing you so much, but don't worry, Mum. We are happy here, and I'm sure the others will come around. As for me, I'm trying my very best to reserve judgment and stay cheerful. It does get a little hard, sometimes. But I promised you I'd look after them, and that's what I'll do. I won't let any of them come to harm if I can help it, and yes, I've still got plenty of medicine left. I spoke the gardener, and he says he has precisely the right herbs in the garden to make some more. I also wrote to the local doctor, and he was very helpful.
I hope you'll be able to come visit sometime, and that both you and Pipsie are well. How's her molting problem shaping up? Lu and Susan send their love, and I know Edmund misses you dearly.
Your loving son,
Peter
Helen Pevensie forced a wavering smile and smoothed the slightly yellowed, creased paper with a gentle hand. She looked to the ashes in the dying fire, seeing dancing figures taunt her with fading vigor. The news of her husband's death now lay within the grate, growing cold and shriveled.
Like her own heart.
She tried to think of her children, of Peter trying so hard to bring them back safely. The least she could do was prepare them a safe and relatively happy home for when they returned.
But how would they live without Henry?
She would have to get a job. And what of the school funds? Peter and Susan both had a scholarship at different halves of 'St Lewis institution of Creative Arts', but there was no guarantee Edmund and Lucy would pass the initiation exam. Then what would they do? If she was working, who would care for the home? Who would visit her mother on Sundays?
She would have to send them away; to boarding school. She had a small account set aside for such an emergency. If she was careful, she could get by for a few years if they were fed and clothed by the school trust.
But it would break her heart; she was already so heartbroken by sending them away for just a few months. And who knew how long the war would last? It could go on for years. Her children…would come back older, wiser. Peter might even be an adult, Susan too…her babies…
Something soft brushed up against her limp hand, and she smiled fondly down at the spindly form of the creature, gently picking her off the floor and settling the grey coloured cat in her lap.
She stroked trembling, bony hands over the cat's soft fur, feeling each bone in the creature's spine. It began to purr appreciatively, staring up at her with contented amber eyes.
"Oh, Pipsie. What are we to do?"
She bit her lip as the pain redoubled in her chest, as she caught sight of the broken picture frame, lying face down on the dresser beside her.
Her children…no longer had a father.
And she no longer had a husband.
In the quiet peace of early morning, she sat beside the fire, staring out as the rain splattered almost angrily against the window. She grew so tired she barely registered the soft pitter patter of rainfall.
Or the tears pouring slowly, mournfully, down her cheeks.
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Edmund groaned, as he stirred from the deep, never ending darkness of sleep and carefully opened his eyes. He winced, and squinted as the bright rays of the sun invaded his senses. He sighed softly, and gingerly opened his eyes again. Much better.
But he still felt so tired…exhausted, even…and his whole body ached with a dull pain which seemed just enough to become aggravating.
He sighed, and moved one hand away from the soft strands of his brother's hair to rub at his eyes, and groggily levered himself up with great effort, taking care not to dislodge Peter as he did so. He smiled sleepily as his brother sighed in his sleep and turned his head to bury his face in his younger brother's shoulder.
Peter would kill himself if he could only see what Edmund saw now.
For, Edmund mused, Peter appeared positively…well…
Cute.
Edmund wrinkled his nose in disgust at his own choice of wording. But there was no denying it. Peter's golden hair, tangled but still strangely soft, was falling into his face and hiding one eye. His face was relaxed, the only movement when he crinkled his nose as he sighed and shifted. Edmund stifled a chuckle, and Peter frowned slightly at the sudden movement of his makeshift pillow.
But thankfully, did not wake.
Edmund hardly ever got to see Peter like this. Peaceful. Vulnerable, even. Peter nearly always had an impenetrable wall of fake defenses about him, protecting him from the cruelty of reality. He would smile and nod, and speak politely and only when spoken too, and people would fawn over his maturity; while he watched from behind a façade, a mask.
But Edmund always knew there was something more.
Something lingering behind that seemingly carefree gaze. Something slightly sinister. Like Peter was afraid, but didn't know how or why. He seemed…lost. Peter, who always knew exactly what to do. Edmund had always seen the uncertainty, the pain, and the suffering which Peter bore in resigned silence.
And he hated it.
But what could he have done? He hadn't a clue what to do. He had wanted to help Peter, but he was just the little brother. The brat. And Peter would never have told him, or even have admitted that anything was wrong.
But he could help him now.
Edmund smiled, too tired to think of what had passed, and carefully lay back down, carding his fingers through Peter's hair as he thought. This was far from over. They still had miles to go, and no means by which to use the river. It seemed they were in quite a fix.
And who knew what the witch had planned next?
He blinked, and frowned. He was certain he was overlooking something. Though he by no means wished to relive the last few hours, he stiffened his resolve and thought back.
He had been floundering in the water, trying desperately to keep Peter's limp form above the raging torrent of the water. His brother's head had been heavy on his shoulder, and with both Edmund's arms occupied with holding Peter upright by the waist, he had no way of treading water.
He had resorted to kicking his legs furiously, and ducking up and down, sometimes slipping below the surface in order to keep Peter from sinking. And then…a hazy blur. He couldn't quite recall how they had managed to get up on the bank…
"MORNING LADDIE!"
Edmund barely concealed a strangled squeal of terror as he physically forced himself from leaping backwards and waking Peter. He clutched his chest with one hand, and glared at the beaming, hairy face which obscured the sun from his vision.
Rabadash let out a throaty chuckle, and ruffled Edmund's hair. Edmund glowered, pouting slightly.
"How ye feeling, little lad? Not too beat up, aye? Took quite a few knocks in there."
Edmund shook his head to clear it, his heart still pounding in his ears. He fixed his hair, his grip on Peter's shoulder loosening as Peter made a sleepy sound of protest.
"Yes, I feel…fine. What happened?"
Rabadash hefted his axe up over his shoulder and puffed out his chest proudly, chin rising to jut out at an angle.
"Well, ye see, I saw ye and ye brother go down all heavy like, so I dives in and drags ye out meself! What ye got to say to that?"
"Very creative, but not entirely convincing."
Edmund blinked in surprise as a boy emerged from the dapple shade of the forest clearing about them. Then he drew in a sharp breath.
The boy had a tunic the colour of pine needles, with sleeves and leggings a lighter, healthy green. His dark hair was longer and neater than before, and his skin was much less pale, but those burgundy coloured eyes and smug expression were unmistakable.
"You!"
Cifel's smile grew lazily across his face, as he sheathed the knife he had been handling with a soft hiss. He shifted his weight and cocked his head to the side. Edmund subconsciously moved an arm around Peter's shoulders, as Peter shifted uncomfortably in his sleep.
"Me."
"Hang on a fleetin' minute! Ye know this lad, boy?"
Rabadash moved to stand between Cifel and the two boys, axe rising. Cifel raised an eyebrow and raised a single hand, and quite suddenly the axe flew out of the dwarf's grip and landed feet away with a clatter.
"I have no time for such impudence. And by the way, Son of Earth, I am over three thousand years your elder. Hardly a lad."
The dwarf jumped as though shocked, as Edmund's mouth fell open. Three thousand? Three thousand!
"Well, ye appear to me to be a mere mite. And a scrawny one, at that, ye rascal."
Cifel snorted, and folded his arms as he turned away. This was ridiculous. He hadn't expected winning their confidence to be so difficult. It…hurt, somehow, to think he had instilled such suspicious dispositions within others.
Had he truly strayed so far from his path?
"We have no time."
He said quietly after a moment, moving to stand beneath an apple tree, eyeing the ripe fruit with narrowed eyes.
"Soon the witch shall discover our escape and move to once again intercept us. We have to move."
"We? I don' recall no 'we', laddie. Last time I looked, ye were facing three disarmed enemies while holding a knife."
Cifel jumped up and grabbed the nearest apple, and turned. He opened his mouth to speak, when he felt a twinge in his bond with the eldest son of Adam. He shrugged, and took a bite of the fruit while watching the proceedings with a raised eyebrow.
This might even turn out to be…fun.
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"Hmmm…Ed…?"
Edmund jumped as he felt Peter shift off him, and turned from his perusal of the new arrival to meet his brother's lidded blue gaze. Edmund grinned and took Peter by the arm, helping him to sit up, albeit a little stiffly.
"Hey, sleepyhead. Feel alright?"
Peter's eyes widened.
"EDMUND!"
Edmund felt the wind knocked out of him as Peter grabbed him suddenly by the shoulders and began looking him up and down frantically. Edmund took Peter's hands and held them still, halting their attempted exploration of his torso to check for wounds.
"Hey! Easy. I'm fine."
Peter's eyes were clouded by the last shroud of sleep, but somehow still held a frenzied, wild tirade of emotions which Edmund could see were rapidly stirring his brother into a panic. Peter was breathing too shallow, too fast. And his hands had begun to shake.
'I…don't…Edmund! Hurt, but…drowning…cold…now…how did this? I don't…'
Peter began to choke.
"Woah, hold it! Come on, Peter, calm down."
Edmund crouched down beside his brother, moving to rub soothing circles in Peter's back, as his mother had done for so many previous incidents. He had to get Peter to calm down, before he became hysterical.
Because then, he wouldn't be able to breath. They had only the peppermint soaked handkerchief to ease the pressure…and that was only if it hadn't been lost in the river. It wouldn't be enough.
Edmund rested his forehead against Peter's temple, breathing in the comforting smell of peppermint and healing herbs as Peter's breathing deepened, and the choking faded to harsh gasps.
"I'm fine. I'm alright, you're alright. Everything's alright now."
Peter turned to him, eyes raw with desperate confusion, for once all the barriers stripped and all walls crumbled. Edmund stared unblinkingly back at him as Peter struggled to speak.
"But…you…we…"
Peter let out a choked noise and lashed out to grab Edmund's forearms, his eyes bearing the frenzy which Edmund had seen on the boat, when he had given up hope. Edmund shifted closer to hear Peter's hoarse, hushed tones.
"I'm…sorry…"
Edmund stared in blind shock as Peter sank forwards, shaking arms wrapping around his little brother's back, and buried his face in Edmund's shoulder. Edmund embraced him in return, marveling at the irony of the situation. It was a though he and Peter had switched places.
Although this was no simple matter of a grazed knee and a few painful tears.
"Sorry for what, Peter?"
Edmund asked quietly, sincerely at a loss at his brother's exclamation. What did Peter have to be sorry about? It was he, Edmund, who was the traitor…the cause of all of Peter's pain…
"For…for everything…"
Peter turned his face away from Edmund, so his response was muffled and indistinct by the fabric of his little brother's shoulder.
"Just…everything…"
Edmund rubbed a soothing hand up and down Peter's arm consolingly, trying to push aside his own rising guilt and despair. Peter needed him now. He could not afford to succumb to his own weakness.
"Hey, don't. I chose to jump in, didn't I?"
Peter shuddered. Edmund sighed, face falling, and glanced down at his brother.
"M'sorry, Pip."
Edmund almost clapped a hand to his mouth as soon as the endearment was out of it. He hadn't meant to…it had just…slipped out. On instinct. His face grew warm as he ducked his head to avoid Peter's questioning gaze.
As a very small boy, when Edmund first began to put names to the things he saw around him, his mother found he had a knack for invention. He would eagerly listen to her soft tones and would often repeat them at the most inconvenient moment. He had little trouble with 'dada'. He even mastered 'mama' in less than a week…but when it came to people's names he was at a loss.
He couldn't comprehend that different people had different names. All trees were trees. All dogs were dogs, and all cats were cats. But people each had a different name.
He eventually conquered 'Susan' with the contortion of 'susu' or 'susi'. But he had to go through many colourful and varied forms before he eventually overcame the obstacle of 'Peter'.
He got very frustrated when the tall, blond boy refused to look up from his drawing at the exclamation of 'pepper'. The little boy had frowned, dark eyes narrowing. His mother always said something like 'pepper' when either the cat or the boy was around. So he tried again.
"Pipper!"
This time the boy had blinked and looked up. From then on, Peter had answered to the name 'Pipper' due to his little brother's aversion to the letter T. even when Edmund eventually learnt to say it properly, it took him years to break the habit. Over time it had shortened to Pip, and their mother had commented that it was aptly named. After all, Peter Isaac Pevensie was very, very fond of apples. But he always cut out the middle with a knife; to avoid the pips, of course.
Ironically.
"You…haven't called me that in years."
Peter seemed much calmer now, and a small smile spread across his lips as he evidently recalled the little, dark haired child who had stubbornly pronounced him 'Pipper' and doomed him to years of torment from his family. Edmund flushed lightly and rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.
"Yes, well…this place makes my head spin. M'not thinking straight, you know? Plus…I guess it IS easier to say."
Peter nodded, smiling fondly as he reminisced, before suddenly scrunching up his face and covering his mouth as he yawned widely, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. Edmund suppressed a chuckle as Peter rubbed at his eyes furiously as they stung with fatigue.
Peter opened his mouth to speak, then froze, eyes wide. Edmund stared at him in concern as Peter stared unblinkingly into the distance.
"Peter? What-"
Peter crinkled his nose and sneezed violently into his cupped hands, doubling over. Edmund leapt backwards, aghast, as Peter took a deep breath and sneezed twice more, then emitted a small moan as he straightened and rubbed his nose, sniffling.
Edmund couldn't quite hold back an amused, but fond, chuckle as Peter withdrew his crumpled peppermint scented tissue from his pocket and blew his nose, glaring dolefully at Edmund all the while.
"S'not funny."
Edmund nodded with a fake grim smile, but his face split into a grin as he carefully pulled his brother upright.
"Pipper the peppermint cold catching wonder strikes yet again! And in mid Summer, no less. Very much another great feat to add to the list. Put it alongside the sniffle in the forty degree summer. "
"Much as this is very endearing…not to mention highly amusing…"
Cifel's lazy tones alerted them to their audience, and they both looked up, Peter hastily removing the handkerchief and moved back from his brother. Cifel rolled his eyes and threw them each a traveling pack.
"I would be most appreciative if we could move."
His smirk dropped and his face grew grave as he repositioned his knife to rest more accessibly on his waist belt. His crimson eyes swept over the surrounding area, noting the ominous silence with a heavy heart.
"We're running out of time."
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A/N: Pipsie is the family cat, by the way. She was partly responsible for Peter's nickname, as Edmund would always hear Peter talking about 'Pip' or 'Pipsie' the cat and thought it was his name instead. Also, he misheard 'Peter' as 'Pipper'.
Cifel: I'm loved…I'm not sure…how…to…react…(brain implodes)
Oh, dear…(grabs screwdriver) review and he may just be fixed by next chapter. He's just in shock by the fact people like him! I myself am very proud of him…and Peter and Edmund, too, for being such long suffering canon characters!
I figured green suited Cifel better than blue, now he's a guardian once again. His wings are white, too.
Review and express your gratitude for our fabulous cast!
Peter and Edmund: (sit impatiently in front of email inbox)