A/N: Time for a nice long talk, folks. Sorry if this chapter is a little on the "eh" side. Necessary evil and all that. Enjoy, and don't forget to read and review.

Part Twenty-Nine:

Peter and Edmund's voices filtered through the door to Peter's room as they pushed it open and entered. "I can't believe Higgins was so surprised at dinner," Edmund said, shaking his head. "Did he honestly think no one would notice? I mean, come on, the kid tried to cut his own hair and shaved half the back off by accident!"

The blonde beside him was also shaking his head. "It did look wicked funny, Ed," he said. "But I'm glad we didn't stoop to everyone else's level and laugh at him. Remember how it felt to be laughed at in Narnia when we'd make mistakes during banquets? I'll bet that's how Higgins felt today."

Edmund nodded, sobering a little. "Oh, do I remember…"

Neither boy immediately perceived the boy move from the shadows beside his closet. It wasn't until the door slammed shut and the lock clicked the Peter and Edmund turned around.

Quentin stood, arms crossed in front of him and eyes narrowed.

"We have to talk," he said firmly.

At Borehamwood Academy…

With their two heads nearly touching, tucked away in a virtually unused corner on the second floor of the library where they kept the old maps, Susan and Lucy Pevensie both wore nearly identical frowns of concern.

"I just can't believe Peter was nearly arrested," Lucy said quietly. "Hasn't he been through enough? I wish we could go visit him and Edmund, whenever something horrible happens we face it as a family."

Susan nodded, lighting patting her sister's shoulder. "I know, Lu," she said. "I wish we could be with them, too. But Peter and Edmund are both strong-willed and as hard as it is, they can handle things without us."

Lucy sighed. "Oh, I know they can," the younger girl countered. "I just wish they didn't have to, you know? I wish we could take Mum to Narnia and not have to come back to England. Then Peter would be able to walk and we'd all be together."

For a moment, Susan didn't respond. Inwardly, she thought back to all the times she had pondered where the Pevensies belonged. In Narnia? Or in England? Part of her wanted to believe they belonged in Narnia, but the logical part of her kept saying they would have been born there if they were meant to be in Narnia.

She dared not voice it to her sister, but there was another reason she wasn't so sure she wanted to live forever in Narnia – when they eventually died there, would their father's spirit be able to join them in the afterlife? If he never set foot in Narnia, and if his body was buried somewhere in England, would they really be separated for eternity?

Susan couldn't stomach the thought.

"Su?"

Lucy gently shook her shoulder, drawing Susan from her thoughts. "Yeah, Lu?"

"We better get a move on if we want to make it to dinner, the hall is going to close down soon and I'm hungry," Lucy said. Pausing, she squinted at her sister's face and added, "Are you all right? You look…sad…"

Susan plastered a smile on her face and turned to Lucy. "I'm fine, Lu. I was just thinking about how Peter must have felt when those MPs accused him of being a deserter. He's given so much for England -- our whole family has – and that must have been a terrible blow."

Her sister nodded. "It must have been," the youngest Pevensie said. "I think I'll write him a letter. Remind him how magnificent I think he is…"

Susan pulled Lucy into a one-armed hug. "He'd love it, Lucy."

Arkley Academy, Peter and Quentin's room…

"Talk?" Peter said warily. "What do we have to talk about, Quentin?"

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances as Quentin stared at them as if he was trying to see through them – into them. It was a moment before the other boy spoke again. "I've been observing you two," he said. "And there are things about you that just don't strike me as normal. And do strike me as possible proof that your…story…is true."

Peter felt his heart leap but he quashed it down. This didn't necessarily mean that Quentin was going to believe him. It just meant that he suspected something was different about him and his brother.

"I'm listening," Peter said. "What is it that you propose?"

Quentin waved his hands suddenly. "Like that!" He exclaimed. "You… 'what is it that you propose', you say it like you're sitting in front of some ambassador or something! What teenager talks like that?"

Peter winced. He had been channeling courtly High King Peter recently in his attempts to deal with the tension between himself and his best mate and the aftermath of the MP scare. He hadn't expected Quentin to pick up on it, however.

"All right, so I speak formally from time to time, what is it you want, Quentin?" Peter said, beginning to lose a little of his patience. Edmund was silent beside him, but the blonde knew his brother was aware of Peter's mental state.

The dark-haired Pevensie stepped forward and chimed in, "And don't beat around the bush, Quentin. Tell us, in exact terms, what it is you want to talk about."

After a tense moment of silence, Quentin deflated and looked down. Taking a deep, steady breath, he looked up and met Peter's questioning gaze. "Tell me about Narnia," he said quietly.

"How do you know its name?" Peter said automatically, knowing he had never told Quentin the name of the land they had ruled and lived in for years.

Smiling slightly, his best friend shook his head. "You two don't exactly have the best of hearing, I suppose. I've heard you talking about it from time to time. I distinctly recall one instance where you, Peter, told Edmund to, what was it, 'keep your crown on'."

The brothers laughed lightly. "Yeah, we use that one a lot," Edmund said, gesturing for Quentin to sit as he and Peter moved off toward Peter's bed across from him. "You must be very quiet for us not to have heard you. We're usually pretty perceptive."

This time it was Quentin who chuckled. "I come from a long line of big game hunters," he said. "I learned early to sneak up on prey. And in this case, that prey was you two."

Peter chose to bring the topic back to the forefront.

"I'm not so sure I want to tell you about Narnia, Quentin," he said honestly. "What makes you ready to listen to me now when you weren't so recently? Why would you believe we traveled to another land through a wardrobe now, but couldn't when I first told you?"

With a sigh, Quentin ran a hand through his hair. "I'll admit, Peter, I'm not so sure I'm going to be able to believe you," he said. "But I am willing to listen and I'm willing to believe that there is something different about you. It's going to be up to you to prove it."

Edmund frowned. "Why should we prove anything to you?"

Peter was staring at Quentin, his eyes barely blinking. "You don't want to lose me as a best friend, and you doubt I want to lose you as a friend either, but you don't know if you can believe something so fantastic…" he said quietly.

Quentin's eyes snapped to his and he slowly nodded.

"You have to admit, Peter, it's rather bizarre," he said quietly. "If I came to you and said, 'Hey Pete, I traveled through a…a tree house into another world, fought off a crazy wizard and became a King', would you believe me?"

If he was honest with himself, before he had experienced Narnia, Peter wouldn't have. "No, I suppose I can't say I would have," he said out loud. "All right. We'll tell you about Narnia. Please reserve judgment until you have heard the entire narration."

Quentin rolled his eyes. "There you go, again, Peter," he said. "Mr. Formality."

Peter glared at him.

Edmund glared at him too.

"Sorry," Quentin mumbled, leaning against the wall behind him. "I'm all ears."

Taking a deep breath, Peter began. "It all started with a game of hide and seek," he said quietly. "Our little sister Lucy found an old wardrobe in a spare room of the country estate we'd been evacuated to and she aimed to hide inside. What she found, was far more than a hiding place.

"Lucy had found what we later learned was called Narnia. A magical land that had been cast into one hundred years of winter by an evil witch named Jadis, who fancied herself the rightful Queen of Narnia," he said.

"The first thing that Lucy found was a lamppost in the middle of the woods. At that lamppost, Lucy met a faun named Mr. Tumnus. Sort of a man with goat legs, if you will," he said with a frown, sure that if any Faun had been within earshot, he'd have gotten a sound tongue-lashing for that description. "Initially, he lulled her to sleep and planned to turn her over to the White Witch, Jadis, who had decreed that all humans be taken to her if they appeared in Narnia."

A slight shiver crept along his spin as he imagined the danger Lucy had unwittingly entered into that day in the country. "Mr. Tumnus had a change of heart and led Lucy away," he continued. "She went back through during the night, though."

He looked at Edmund, who frowned, but nodded and spoke.

"I followed her," he said. "I didn't find the faun. But I was found by someone else." He paused, looking to Peter for a moment. His brother's eyes held compassion, but nothing else but love. He smiled lightly and continued. "The White Witch found me, talked to me, and gave me food and drink. She said she would make me a King and that she wished to meet my family. I believed her. I had no real reason not to at the time."

Peter glossed over the family's arguments and instead skipped to where they all hid in the wardrobe and fell into Narnia together after the broken window incident. "We were most surprised when the next being we spoke to was a beaver," he said, remembering his silly attempts to attract the Talking Animal as he would a wild creature in England. "He took us to his home and told us of the prophecy that he believed had to refer us."

Quentin looked like he was trying hard to absorb it all and had yet to interrupt them. At the mention of a prophecy, he frowned, but still said nothing.

So Peter went on again. "The prophecy said, 'When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone, sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done'," Peter said. "At first, we refused to believe it could be us. I mean, we were just kids who'd stumbled into Narnia and knew nothing about it, or about being rulers."

There was a sudden flurry of movement from Quentin as he waved his hands. "Wait…wait…" he said. "Adam's flesh and Adam's bone? Who is this Adam? You father's name was Henry…"

Unable to help it, Edmund blurted out, "Adam as in Adam and Eve, Quentin," he laughed. "The prophecy referred to humans sitting on the four thrones at Cair Paravel."

Quentin folded his arms across his chest with a half-frown, half-pout on his face.

Ed's laughter died down as the glare Peter sent at him hit home. "Sorry…" he mumbled before continuing the story himself.

Edmund told how he left his brother and sisters to seek out the witch then, and how he learned how grave a mistake he had made when she sent her wolf patrol out to kill Peter, Susan and Lucy.

"She threw me in her dungeon where I finally met Mr. Tumnus," he said, head down and voice full of remorse. "I'd put him there, you know," he said, looking up, but not focusing on Quentin or anything in the room. "I had told her about him meeting Lucy. I was the reason he was down there."

Peter gripped Edmund's arm and squeezed in reassurance.

Sighing, Edmund regained his composure. "She was most distressed when her wolves didn't find Peter and the others at the Beaver's dam," he said. "She…she used her wand and turned Mr. Tumnus to stone and then took me and set off to pursue them herself."

Peter kept his hand on Edmund's arm. The dark-haired boy found the warm weight comforting as Peter continued the narrative. "We had decided the only way to help Edmund was to seek out Aslan," Peter said, remembering how the name had inspired feelings of bravery and adventure in him when he first heard it. He noticed it seemed to have no impact on Quentin, however.

Sighing, he went on. "We met Father Christmas on the way, who gave Lucy a cordial that could heal any wounds and a small dagger. To Susan he gave a bow and arrows that would always find its mark if she believed in it and a horn that would bring aid to her wherever she was. To me, he gave the sword of the High King, Rhindon, and a shield emblazoned with Aslan's image.

"We continued on as winter began to thaw," he said. "When we reached a river we had to cross, we were nearly killed by Jadis' wolves. The river's ice jam actually saved us and swept away the wolves and nearly us. It wasn't long after that we arrived, finally, at Aslan's encampment."

He shook his head. "We told him we had come because we needed his

help to find our brother," he said, looking at the top of Edmund's head. "But while that's what we said, I think we all felt like we were there for a bigger reason. It's funny really, how suddenly I felt like I was meant to carry a sword. It was even stronger in his presence."

Edmund looked up at Peter at that. He'd felt nothing but mysterious horror the first time he'd heard the name Aslan. It was interesting to know what his brother had felt and he was glad it was a nicer experience for Peter.

"Aslan took me aside later and showed me the castle of Cair Paravel, which I could just see from the cliff above the camp. He told me that as the oldest of the four of us, it was my destiny to be High King," Peter continued. "He said that the Deep Magic that rules Narnia had chosen me, and he promised to do what he could to help Edmund, and in return all he asked was that I consider helping defeat the Witch."

Peter looked over at Quentin, gauging the other boy's appearance and deciding he didn't look completely shell shocked yet. "It wasn't too long after that that I made my first actual kill," he said. His friend's eyes widened at that, but still, he was silent. "The wolf captain, Maugrim, attacked Susan and Lucy and I killed him. I got my first title then. Sir Peter Wolfsbane, Knight of Narnia."

Edmund took up the story here.

"Aslan sent some of his troops to follow the other wolf and it led them to me at Jadis' encampment," he said. "They freed me and took me to Aslan." He realized something. "Oh, just so you know, Aslan is a great lion. Golden and very, very intimidating when you first meet him. He's the King above all kings in Narnia."

Quentin looked about ready to incredulously mouth the word "lion?" but managed to hold himself back and nod slightly in recognition. "Ok," he said quietly, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Peter smiled lightly at the beginning of the glassy-eyed, overwhelmed look in Quentin's eyes. "We were very happy to see Edmund and I thought it was time for my brother and sisters to go home," he said. "But they felt otherwise and overruled me. And I have to admit, I needed them. And so did Narnia."

Settling back further into his bed, he cleared his throat.

"We trained some, but before long our solace was interrupted by the witch again. This time, she had come to claim ownership of a traitor's blood," he said, his voice like a knife at the memory.

For a moment, he said nothing, giving Quentin time to voice what he was hedging on. "So, who was this traitor?"

Peter's eyes snapped up, flickering from Edmund to Quentin and back to his brother where they settled. "Well, it was Edmund," he said. "He had gone to her, intending to get one up on us. He had…he…"

Edmund huffed, "He's trying to say that I betrayed them," the younger boy said. "And I did betray them, and I regret it still, though I know that I am no longer that same boy who entered Narnia in my night robe."

Sighing, Peter turned to Quentin. "She intended to take Edmund and kill him on the Stone Table to appease the Deep Magic in Narnia. The blood of a traitor, it was written, belonged to her and if it was denied to her, Narnia would be no more. The other benefit to Edmund's death, for her at least, was that the prophecy wouldn't be fulfilled, because it called for four humans. If Ed had died, only Susan, Lucy, and I would be left, and alone we couldn't fulfill the prophecy."

Edmund frowned, remembering how his heart had been beating so fast that day he had feared it would beat right out of his chest and run screaming back to England.

"So what happened?" Quentin asked. "I mean, Ed's here and he's obviously alive and well, unless you're going to tell me he's a ghost."

"It's complicated," Peter said, "but basically, Aslan traded places with Edmund. We didn't know it until he had already gone and done it. Susan and Lucy had gone with him and they sent word that Aslan was dead."

Edmund watched as memories flitted across Peter's face. But his brother found the strength to go on and his voice didn't waver. "We suddenly found ourselves at the head of an army," he said. "They dressed us in full armor and gave me a mount. A beautiful white unicorn. I was to ride at the head of the army. Edmund was to stay with the reserves on the cliffs."

Peter felt Edmund stiffen at that comment and shot a glance at him to find his brother lost so deeply in thought that Peter refrained from going on until he had regained his attention.

"Edmund?"

Quentin frowned too when he saw that the dark-haired boy wasn't responding. "Is he all right?" he said quietly.

Peter shook his head in confusion. "Edmund?" He said, louder. The other boy jerked sharply and turned his gaze to Peter.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he said, shaking his head to clear it. "I just lost myself for a moment there. Please, go on, Peter, don't mind me."

Peter waited another moment before doing so, vowing to speak to Edmund later.

"We held them off as long as we could, but we were fighting a losing battle," he said. "Many were dying or being turned to stone by the witch's wand. I told Edmund to get out of there, find the girls and get them home. Of course, being Edmund, he didn't listen."

Edmund frowned. "Do I ever?" He said with a small smile, before taking up the story again. "I saw the witch heading straight for Peter and I had to do something about it. I knew her power was in her wand, so I ran and reached her and I was able to break the wand with my sword."

He paused and Peter's grip tightened almost painfully on his arm, knowing what came next. "She was far too skilled a warrior for me," he said sadly. "The last thing I remember before waking up later was her stabbing me with the broken piece of her wand and how much it hurt. I vaguely recall Peter's voice screaming my name."

Quentin was nearly as still as the statues of stone the witch left in her wake, trying to process a 10-year-old being stabbed by a broken wand on a field of battle, surrounding by death and dying.

He was having a hard time of it, but turned back to Peter when his best friend took up the story again, loosening his hold on Edmund's arm when his brother winced and pulled away.

"I charged her, naturally," Peter said. "I was so very angry and so scared for Edmund. We fought for a few minutes before there was an almighty roar from the cliffs and we both stopped fighting to look."

He remembered the feeling of intense relief that seeing Aslan had brought to him and the smile that had crossed his face when he saw the army that the lion had gathered during his absence.

"Roar?" Quentin asked. "But didn't you say that Aslan bloke … er … lion … was dead? Was it a different lion roaring?"

Peter shook his head. "No, it was Aslan," he said. "The witch didn't know the Deep Magic as well as he did, since he was there when it was written. When he, an innocent, willingly gave his life in the stead of a traitor, the Deep Magic turned back even death itself and he had banked on that, I think."

Quentin looked a little more uncertain than ever at that, but nodded for Peter to continue, which the blonde did.

"Of course, the witch took advantage of my distraction at seeing an alive and well Aslan and attacked again," Peter said. "This time, she knocked me down and pinned my arm to the ground with a sword. It was no time before she had disarmed me and was about to kill me.

"Then, there was a flash of gold and she was gone."

Quentin had inched forward on the bed until he was perched on the end and he looked about ready to fall off. He was enthralled by the tale, not sure if he believed it or not, but unable to help the curiosity.

"Aslan had saved me," Peter said. "He killed her."

Melancholy entered his tone for a moment. "Susan and Lucy found me then and I was so happy to see them well. But…there was still

Edmund. And he wasn't well." Peter looked over at his brother, perhaps reassuring himself that he was fine now. "We found him and he … well, he wasn't doing well. Lucy gave him some of her cordial."

Peter felt a lump in his throat, but fiercely swallowed it down. "I thought I'd lost him," he said faintly. "Until he coughed. I think I came near to breaking his ribs when I hugged him, I was so relieved he was alive."

Edmund smiled lightly. "You were close, Peter," he said with a small smile. "We marched to Cair Paravel after the battle. We were crowned Queen Lucy the Valiant, King Edmund the Just, Queen Susan the Gentle and High King Peter the Magnificent. And for fifteen years, we ruled over Narnia as best we could."

"Until," Peter said, "the day we went off to hunt the white stag." He shook his head at the memory of Edmund's boasts before they left on the hunt. "We happened upon the very same lamppost that Lucy had encountered that first time in Narnia and it led us back through the wardrobe."

Edmund chuckled. "Boy were we shocked when we tumbled out into the

spare room and had de-aged!" He smiled at the look on Quentin's

face. "In Narnia, years had passed. But here in England, it was only minutes."

The brothers glossed over being called back to Narnia by Prince Caspian and returning to find it was 1,300 years later. They told how they failed miserably during the night raid, and how Peter's injuries had left him paralyzed again. How the witch had temporarily come back, only to be somewhat easily defeated by Edmund, and how they had finally decided to send Lucy in search of Aslan while Peter, if he regained feeling soon enough, would stall Miraz and the Telmarines with single combat.

"So that's the dual to the death I heard you guys talking about!" Quentin exclaimed. At the boys' nods, he shook his head. "What happened?"

Peter sighed. "I was healed in time, praise Aslan," he said. "We fought, and I was about to swing the killing blow, when a Telmarine on the sidelines fired off a crossbow shot that hit my shoulder. That's where I got the scar the doctor saw."

He saw Quentin wince in sympathy.

Edmund growled. "I should have known those Telmarines were going to try something, Caspian all but said so when he saw them talking amongst themselves and noticed how it had angered General Glozelle."

A quelling hand on his shoulder stopped the impending tirade. "It's done, Ed," he said. "Being angry about it now does no good. To make a long story short, Quentin, I won the duel, but gave Caspian leave to decide his uncle's fate. He let him live, but Miraz' own general did not and the battle was on.

"Lucy had indeed found Aslan and they sent the trees to help us. It turned the tide of battle and we drove them to the river, where a river spirit struck the final blow and the Telmarines surrendered."

Edmund nodded. "Caspian was later crowned King and we helped him

set up a Council of Advisors before we volunteered to return to England to prove that the gateway Aslan had created would do the Telmarines no harm."

Peter nudged his dead leg. "This took effect the minute we returned to England," he said sadly. "But I see now that it saved me from a worse fate of prison and for that I am thankful." After a slight pause, he added, "I believe if we return to Narnia it will be healed again, and I have to hold to that hope."

The room fell into thick silence now as Quentin processed – or at least tried to process – the story the two brothers had just woven for him. It was so fantastical, so completely insane, what was he to think?

Talking animals? Witches? Battles and armies and wands and Deep Magic? Peter and Edmund as Kings, and their sisters as Queens? English children as the rulers of a magical land in a wardrobe?

Could he believe this? Did he want to believe it?

Looking up at Peter, he had his answer.

He had to believe it. For Peter. For their friendship.

Gulping, he stood and moved to Peter's side, sitting on the bed next to his best friend. "It's crazy, Peter," he said quietly, watching at Peter's head fell and his chin nearly hit his chest in sadness. Reaching out, he tapped it up again. "But I believe you. You're my best friend. And this is too much to have made up."

He smiled at the huge grin that broke out on his friend's face and backed away before Peter could crush him in a hug, "There is one condition!" he called out, hands up to ward off any contact until he had been heard. "You guys and your sisters have to let me write the book…"

Quentin barely dodged the pillow Edmund flung at him as the three dissolved into relieved laughter.

A/N: Aw…they're all friends again…read and review!