It was one by the station clock. Edmund had taken off his sweater and put it on the seat beside him. It was a bright, crisp late summer day, and the air was heavy with the smell of flowers and the lazy buzzing of bees. It would have been a good day for a picnic, but Edmund wasn't in the mood for a picnic. He wanted to get up and pace, but his knee was too sore for him to do that. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He checked the clock for the second time in two minutes, and then his watch to make sure the clock was right. Jill and Eustace's train was due in half an hour.

He noticed that Peter's hands were clenched rather tight around the box which held the rings. True to his word, he hadn't looked at them again, but he insisted on keeping the box. Edmund thought that was only right. Besides, if he could trust anyone, it was Peter.

He shifted a little and looked away into the shrubs growing across the tracks; this thought made him a little uncomfortable. Can anyone trust me so implicitly? He couldn't pursue melancholy, though. The station was so sleepy and the sun on his back was so warm. All around them the trees were quiet. It was a waystation between rail lines, but that was the place's only purpose. Edmund might have been lulled to sleep if he hadn't been so anxious.

Peter seemed to be getting restless too. He yawned and stretched. "Did you know that Mum and Dad are traveling today too?" Edmund knew he said it just for the sake of doing something other than just sitting.

"Really. Where are they going?" Edmund took the bait.

"Bristol. Dad told me this morning. He invited me and Susan to come along at breakfast, but I told him you and I were traveling today," Peter explained nonchalantly.

"Did Susan go with them?"

"No, she said she was going to the cinema with her friends."

"That's like Susan," Edmund sighed.

Peter nodded. He contemplated the toe of his shoe a moment before saying "Ed, where did we lose her? Was it when she went to America?"

Thinking of Susan was painful, but what hurt even more was hearing Peter's voice break as he spoke of her. "I think it was even before that," Edmund said slowly. "When we came back from Narnia the first time…don't you remember?"

"She didn't say much. She spent a lot of time alone," Peter added.

Edmund picked up the thread. "We wanted to talk about Narnia all the time, but it was as though she couldn't bear it. Every time Lucy started to reminisce she would go take a walk by herself."

"And when we went back—do you remember when she found the chess knight? She almost cried. But I didn't want to cry, I—Edmund, that moment, when I realized I was back in Narnia, it was almost the best thing that's ever happened to me. And Susan could only think of crying."

"Come to that," Edmund said, "How did she react when Aslan told you both you wouldn't return?"

Peter let out his breath and pushed his hair back. "She didn't say anything then, but there wasn't a lot to say, really. We knew we couldn't argue, though it was awfully hard to hear."

"But what did she do?" Edmund pressed.

Peter squinted, trying to remember. "She…she turned very white, I remember, and there was this strange thing: a shadow seemed to fall across her face. It was almost as if she stopped being a queen, but that can't be. Aslan himself said we are always kings and queens. But still, even Aslan noticed the change in her. He kissed her to give her confidence, and when he turned to me I could see that his eyes were sad. Oh! I almost forgot, and this was the strangest thing of all. When he turned to me and I saw the sadness in his eyes he said to me—well, he didn't exactly speak but I heard him anyway—'Remember Peter, only Susan can save herself.' But he kissed me before I could ask him about it and then we were going back to everyone and back to England."

"She was never steadfast like Lucy or strong like you. Rather, she was always realistic, always skeptical."

"She wasn't herself when we went back to help Caspian," Peter agreed. He turned the box over in his hands, his brow furrowed. "But that's the thing. We know Susan. She was always gentle and tender-hearted. True, she could sometimes be foolish—"

"Like with Rabadash?" Edmund broke in with a snicker.

Peter smiled. "Exactly the error in judgment I was thinking of. She was foolish, as I say, but that still doesn't explain who she is now. These frivolities of boys and parties and clothes don't suit her."

"They do," Edmund differed. "She loved her clothes in Narnia and the court festivals, and she had suitors from all over that world."

"But there was something more to her. She loved those things, but she loved us. She loved Narnia. She loved Aslan. Where is all that love? Can it just disappear?" Edmund didn't answer, and Peter pressed forward. "Will she ever find it again? Can she find her way back?"

"Yes," Edmund answered in a strong, clear voice. "She can't earn it, but she can find it. If she wants" he added softly.

Can I find my way back? Can I find redemption? Edmund asked himself. Have I even looked for it? I've spent so long thinking I wasn't worthy, but then Aslan says I never can be I must simply accept that he loves me that much. How can I go forward if I can't let go the past? I don't even know if Peter's forgiven me. I've never heard him say the words. I suppose he has, but—"Peter, do you forgive me?" he asked aloud, quite suddenly.

Peter stared at his brother, slightly nonplussed by his sudden impassioned outburst. "For what?" he questioned Edmund.

Edmund swallowed. "For what I did—in Narnia. For betraying you."

"Edmund! Didn't you know the answer to that long ago?" Peter almost sounded hurt.

"You trust me, then?"

"With my life." His reply was immediate and certain.

But I don't trust myself with his life. I don't trust myself at all, as if I don't really believe in redemption.

But I do. I know what Aslan did for me, and I know that dream wasn't just any dream. I know he did it for me, but why don't I "feel it" as Lucy would say?

The answer struck him all at once, and it was so simple Edmund wanted to laugh out loud. All this time all I had to do was forgive myself. He felt like someone had turned on the color and the light in England. For a moment that in-between train station became almost as glorious as Narnia. He saw in the white flowers growing by the side of the tracks a whiteness that rivaled the Silver Sea. Can I? He looked at Peter. He looked around him. He asked himself If at this moment the Witch rode up and tried to tempt me, what would I do? The answer was so quick it was practically automatic, but he felt its truth. I would reach for a sword and lop off her head. Lacking a sword I would grab the first thing I could to fight her, and if I still couldn't find anything I would go at her with my fists. She has no power over me anymore. Her enchantment is long over—I can't even see Turkish Delight anymore! I am for Narnia, and Aslan.

And so, he let it go. He knew that he would never betray Peter and Susan and Lucy again, that he would in fact die defending them. Nothing could erase what he had done, but the intervening years had shown that wasn't the only thing that defined him. I am who I am today because I did this thing. I learned from it, and now I must learn to move past it. Let it go, Edmund.

Peter was staring at him, so he smiled and said simply. "If Mum and Dad are going to Bristol, they're bound to be on the same train as the others."

"And Lucy doesn't know. How funny." Peter was grinning at Edmund as if he knew, at least in part, what was really going on. Edmund didn't doubt it. "We shall have to tell her when we see her. She'll be glad to hear it."

Edmund nodded. "I imagine she will. And you know what else? After we leave this station, you and me and Lucy, we have to start," he said.

"Start what?" Peter asked.

"Our lives. We've got to go and do something. I don't want to be in London anymore, Peter. We should find someplace quiet to live, someplace on the sea."

"The sea," Peter murmured. "That would be nice. I could work with horses," he offered with a boyish grin.

"And Lucy ought to work with children. I could be a schoolmaster. Or something. Live a quiet life."

"We could have a library like the Professor."

"And a garden in the back, spilling flowers—for Lucy."

"She would be happier by the sea," Peter agreed. He settled back on the bench, quite at his royal ease. "I knew you had plans!"

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Edmund could see in Peter's eyes that he was daydreaming of where they might go. Edmund was not the daydreaming sort; he was looking at everything keenly as his mind started making plans. In looking at the deserted platform drenched in sun, he felt a great pull of memory, as if he remembered something from a dream. He exclaimed, "I say! We've been here nearly three quarters of an hour now, and neither of us has said anything about this place."

Peter grinned. "This is where we were when Caspian winded his horn."

"When we all went back to Narnia," Edmund added in a dreamy tone reminiscent of Lucy.

They both got up. The train was coming around the bend. Edmund was ready.

A/N: Theoretically, I could end here, but I feel we simply must go to Narnia. Hence, one more chapter.

Somewhere along the way I lost steam. I don't know if this chapter is quite where I wanted it to be, but I've stared at it for two days straight and figured if anything, it could use a fresh pair of eyes. So fire away, people.