Edmund lay with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. 3am. He was not surprised to be awake at that hour. He was not even surprised that he hadn't fallen asleep to being with. After all, his knee had kept him up the night before.

In a couple of hours he would wake Peter up and they would go look for the rings. Probably he would have to stop Peter from trying them. That was Edmund's job: to show restraint. Caspian, you can't go to the very end of the world. Peter, we can't ride headlong into battle together. Susan, you can't give yourself over to any and every charming suitor.

As if on cue, he heard Susan come lightly up the stairs. He knew from his many 3am's that she often came home this late. Before the gulf really opened between them, she would sometimes peek in on him. If she found him awake—and she always did—she would perch on his bed and chat with him. It was idle talk, really, but her voice was so soothing and melodic it lulled him into peace. When she left, he always past the rest of the night in a beautifully soft slumber. That was Susan's gift, to bring tranquility.

But all this was before the colossal fight of a couple week before. It had been about Peter, and a little about Lucy, and a lot about Narnia; he didn't have much to do with it. Still, he felt his anger rising when she mocked Peter enough to bring him down, bring Peter down of all people, and when she insulted Lucy he couldn't stand it. He flew at her. It didn't matter than they were practically grown. Edmund couldn't let anyone call Lucy ridiculous. He had done it far too often and too unjustly in their childhood.

After Peter pulled them apart, Edmund chased Susan upstairs. He caught her on the attic steps. Both were panting hard. She stepped backwards and stumbled into a sitting position, looking up at him with angry eyes. He though of hitting her again, but he changed his mind at the last second.

"Su," he pleaded. "Why are you doing this? We all used to be so close."

"I told you to stop, Edmund. I meant it."

"But Aslan—"

"Oh, enough with these lions and fake countries! How do you keep all this with you?"

"Look here, Susan," Edmund said sternly. "All this denial is no good. You forcing yourself to forget—it's turning traitor."

"Oh, and you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" she spat.

Edmund took it in stride. "Better than anyone," he said ruefully.

"And you'd like to think it was the same, but it's not. Forgetting is not the same as selling your family to death for Turkish Delight! You betrayed us, Edmund. Don't compare what I do to that. This is nothing."

Edmudn should have seen his window, that Susan was talking about Narnia as if it were fact, but he was reeling from her comment. What was there to stay? If it weren't for Aslan it's very likely they all would have died. By his hand.

She had conquered him. He left her seething on the stairs and went down to Lucy and Peter to lick his wounds with them. He hadn't really spoken to Susan since.

Edmund turned his face to the wall so that if by chance Susan looked in she wouldn't see he was awake. He wanted to imagine that he heard her pause in the doorway.

She was the only one who ever addressed his treachery. Peter and Lucy never breathed a word about it, and who knows what they thought in their secret hearts? Did they hold on, like Susan? Or worse, had they forgiven him?

Even in Narnia, no one spoke of what he did, though the deed was known. Edmund knew why this was. About a year after they took their thrones at Cair Paravel, he had been passing time one afternoon in the Chamber of Instruments, just off the Throne Room. Suddenly he heard a rise in the volume of voices in the hall outside, and the familiar hiss and clang of a sword being drawn. He was about to rush in to aid, but even as he cracked the door he heard his brother's voice ring out.

"And what means your honor with this comment?" Peter demanded. Peering through, Edmund could see him gripping his shining sword.

A dwarf spoke up. "If it please your Majesty, the court knows of his adventure with the Witch. He has performed admirably for Narnia since, but mightn't there be a certain…temptation?" Edmund heard several murmurs of assent.

Peter's reply echoed in the hall like the growl of a lion. "Do you make an adventure on our royal person? For when you slander our brother you slander us?"

"But it's not—"

"Henceforth," the High King continued above the objections, "no one shall make mention of King Edmund's past, particularly since they are not familiar with the entire story. He is your King, and rightfully so. He is Duke of Lantern Waste and Count of the Western March, and we ourselves made him a knight of Narnia, head of the Most Noble Order of the Table. All of this is by the grace of Aslan. And so to question the Kingship of Edmund is to injure us and insult the wisdom of the Lion. Therefore, we expressly forbid mention of it. Any who disobey may come and deal with us personally."

The High King sat down with his naked sword laid across his knees. Edmund couldn't see his face, but he could imagine the expression: stern, proud, and fierce, with the chin held high and the eyes glittering.

Edmund withdrew into the chamber and found he was shaking a little. Even so, he couldn't suppress a small, wry smile. Peter had finally gotten the knack of royal language; he hadn't been able to make it sound natural until just then.

Peter had defended him, but had he been worthy of defending? This was the question that woke him every night. He knew.

No one told him why Aslan went to the Stone Table, but he was smart enough to figure it out. Aslan had given up his life for him, when in truth Edmund deserved not sacrifice, but punishment.

He tried to be worth of the sacrifice Aslan made. He tried to restrain his temper, govern fairly, love his people and his family as best he could. He tried not to question Peter's authority as High King or resent that he was not eldest and most powerful. But can one ever earn such love? The fact remained that what had happened stayed with him, and he was stained in a way that clear-eyed Lucy and glittering Peter never were. Even Susan, cool though she was, was still blissfully pure, though he didn't know for how much longer.

I betrayed them, sold them for power and a throne. And in the end I wound up sitting on a throne. Where is the justice in that? If justice were truly served—well, I should have died on the Stone Table, not become King Edmund the Just. I make justice a farce. I should not have enjoyed your comradeship and your love. I don't deserve it.

The eastern sky was a bright cerulean now, tinged at the horizon with a green streak of dawn. The time had come to awaken Peter and do what he could for Narnia. Edmund slithered out of bed and went down the hall.