Oooh, I'm updating like a fan possessed! But when the muse hits, you've got to go with it. Disclaimer – I don't own, please don't sue! Please do R&R.

Painfully, slowly, as if each word was being wrenched from his lips, Edmund began to speak.

"I found her about halfway up to the hall," he said. "I cut across the Rec., and there she was… but she wasn't on her own."

Peter nodded grimly and urged his brother to "Go on."

"There was a man there with her. And he was… he was…" Edmund's face collapsed and for a brief second his resemblance to Susan was so strong as to be heartbreaking. Peter reached for Edmund and pulled him into a fierce hug. Edmund spoke into his brother's shoulder; the words came out muffled but Peter could understand both the words and the sentiment.

"Don't make me say it. Please Peter… I can't."

Edmund trembled, and he felt Peter nod. Relief flooded his body, like a drop of a cordial made of fire-berries from the mountains of the sun. But the feeling was short lived.

"Just tell me one thing," Peter said, as he straightened up and separated from the embrace. Edmund looked up at him fearfully as if expecting a blow to come.

"Was she…" Peter didn't know quite how to phrase the question that was screaming in his mind. Whichever way you looked at it, it sounded pretty awful. He cleared his throat, and managed to choke out the rest of the question: "Do you think she… encouraged it in any way?"

Edmund shook his head violently, indignantly. "No!" he cried, breathing heavily, glaring at his brother. "By the time I got to her, she had passed out, but it looked like she had put up a hell of a fight. I know what you're thinking, but even if she's not a Queen anymore, Susan would never allow herself so be so dishonoured without a struggle. You know that!"

Peter nodded. He did know, and his face cleared a little. But it darkened again as he said:

"What happened next? What did you do?"

"What do you think I did? I pulled him off her and laid into him… I pounded him. But I tell you now Peter, if I had had my sword…" and Edmund tailed off, frustration emanating from his whole being.

Yet there was a tiny beam of gladness in Peter's heart that his brother had not been so armed. King Edmund was gone, and sixteen year old Edmund Pevensie could not mete out justice in this world as he had in the other. Peter knew in the deep recesses of his heart that had his brother had a weapon in his grasp when he had faced down their sister's attacker, his family would now be facing a problem even graver than their current situation.

"You got him then?" he enquired, with grim satisfaction.

"I got a few good swings in after I yanked him off." Edmund gave Peter a tight little smile. "But in the end he whacked me in the face with his pistol and took off running. I couldn't chase him… I couldn't leave Susan."

"You did the right thing..." Peter approved. "Wait. What? He had a gun?"

"They all do, don't they? They get given them when they join up."

"He was a soldier?" Edmund nodded, and his brother couldn't believe what he was being told. Soldiers were supposed to be noble. Gallant… Peter's head reeled. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Who was it? Did you recognise the bastard?"

"No, I'd never seen him before."

"English or American?"

"I don't know Pete. It was dark… I was scared. I didn't really see much."

"Would you recognise him again if you saw him?" Peter asked, gripping the kitchen table.

"I'm not sure… Maybe. Whoever he was he'll have a fair few bruises on his ugly mug by now. That might help us pick him out."

"Well if he was a soldier, he'll have had to report back to his base this evening. Perhaps we should…"

"Don't even think about it," Lucy stood in the doorway, regarding her brothers with an expression of disapproval so severe she might have been Susan herself.

"Lucy!" Edmund protested, "She's our sister, we can't just sit here…"

"We can," she interrupted firmly, "and we must. This isn't Narnia. If you go out looking for that man, you'll come home beaten to a pulp or worse. You could end up in jail! Besides, Susan doesn't want you to."

"How do you know?" Peter asked, with uncharacteristic irritation at his sister flickering behind his eyes.

"She told me so, just now. She asked me to come in here and stop you two doing anything stupid."

"Susan," said Peter, pushing past Lucy and moving swiftly into the sitting room, his brother and sister following close behind.

He found his sister awake again, curled up in the farthest corner of the sofa. As her siblings entered the room Susan visibly shrank back and turned her head away. Peter sat gingerly down beside her, and laid a heavy hand on her arm. He could feel his sister trembling.

"Susan, sweetheart…" he began, "We need to find the man who did this." She was made of stone, of ice.

"No," she growled, "I don't want anybody to know. I just want to forget it ever happened." Her head hung limply on her neck and her hair fell down around her face, concealing it from view.

Peter bit back his tears and looked desperately around the room. He didn't know what to do. Edmund was standing awkwardly above them, looking down at his sister with anxious eyes. But Lucy moved forwards and dropped to her knees at Susan's feet. She gently took her sister's hands in her own and brushed a wing of tangled hair back from Susan's face.

"Do you want to go upstairs, Su? You could have a bath if you liked. I'll stay with you."

After a long pause, Susan nodded. "Yes, please," she said, sounding like a tired child. And so it was that fourteen year old Lucy Pevensie helped her elder sister to her feet and led her upstairs. In a minute or two, the sound of running water cascaded down the stairs.

The two boys stood regarding one another as the seconds ticked by. They were both breathing hard; each sought to manage himself but both remained poised to step in should the other lose his personal battle for control.

Finally, Peter spoke, words that he had spoken before and never forgotten.

"I'm going to kill him."

Edmund nodded - his face expressionless and cold. There was nothing to say, nothing he could do, except fall back on his mother's answer to all ills.

"I'll make us some tea, shall I?"