A/N: Sorry folks, Phoenixqueen and I are still pecking away at revisions to earlier chapters every other day – and then yesterday I was just too darn tired to update. So this is a little longer to make up for it! Also put a banner on my Photobucket account for this story. To check it out, follow the directions at the bottom of my profile page on . Lemme know what you think if you do!

Part Thirty:

Knowing Edmund as well as he did, Peter hoped he wasn't making a mistake when he sobered after Quentin's "book deal" quip and focused his attention on his brother. "Ed?" He said, "You seemed lost when I was talking about Beruna. What were you thinking about?"

Still recovering from their laughter, Edmund didn't answer right away. When he managed to calm his breathing, he turned to Peter with a small frown. "I was just remembering how…well…how frightening it was. Watching you. It still sort of haunts me, even after all these years."

Quentin chimed in, "Beruna was that first battle you guys fought in?"

At their nods, he slumped onto Peter's bed and flopped onto his stomach, propping his head up on his palms and focusing on Edmund. "Well, do tell," he said. "I've found the best way to deal with your demons is to let them out and beat them down. Since you two seem quite good with beating things up, it might just work."

He frowned, then added, "Unless you'd rather just tell Peter? I could go find somewhere to hang out for a bit?"

But Edmund shook his head. "No, Quen, we told you about Narnia and we decided on no more secrets," he said quietly. "I suppose I could tell both of you."

Peter sat beside Quentin and tugged Edmund down so his brother was sitting tucked up against the headboard, Peter was in the middle leaning against the wall, and Quentin was taking up the rest of the best facing Edmund.

Seeing the two older boys were settled and appeared to have no intention of letting this go, Edmund sighed. "Most of the time, when I think of Beruna, I don't think about what happened to me, with the Witch," he said quietly. "That was awful, yeah, but not as awful as watching my brother lead an army for the first time ..."

He had told Peter he believed he could do it. And Peter had straightened his back and gotten that look in his eyes – the one that made his younger siblings honestly feel like there was nothing Peter couldn't do.

Now, Edmund wasn't so sure.

Standing atop a high cliff, surrounded by Narnian archers and flanked on one side by Mr. Beaver, who he had reconciled with just recently, Edmund couldn't tear his eyes away from the one white spot in vast sea of browns below.

Peter's armor glinted in the sunlight and his white unicorn stood out against the green grass and the rock outcropping that he and Oreius were perched on, looking out toward where the Witch's army was about to appear.

He looks so small, Edmund thought to himself, momentarily surprised to be thinking Peter anything but larger than life. He had to be honest with himself, he had always hated how Peter was always so perfect before Narnia. Now, he half-wished he still thought of Peter as being high and mighty. Instead of so very small.

It wasn't that Edmund didn't think his brother made a good leader. Or that he wouldn't make a great High King. He was just afraid. Afraid for Peter's life. His brother had only just picked up a sword for the first time a few days ago. Now he was going to ride into battle with it and a shield as the only thing that stood between him and death. Well, that and his usual dumb luck…

"Are you all right, sire?" Mr. Beaver said from below. "You looked upset…"

Edmund looked away from Peter for a moment to meet the Talking Animal's gaze. "I'm worried," he said quietly. "I…I look down there and I see my brother, not a warrior. My brother who usually wears goofy suspenders. Who likes to sit around and read books." He looked back out over the field of battle. "When we were training yesterday, I could tell he's going to be great with a sword. The operative words being going to be, Mr. Beaver."

He sighed. "I want to help him, but I'm all the way up here."

The Beaver said nothing immediately, obviously thinking on Edmund's words. Then he turned his attention to Edmund again. "I imagine he's thinking much the same about you," he said. "Worrying that you might fall in this fight."

Edmund nodded in agreement. "I'm sure he is. I could tell he was relieved when he could put me up here, as far from harm's way as possible," he said, perhaps a little miffed at that still.

Mr. Beaver snorted. "Far from harm's way? I think not, sire," he said. "The battle will come to us, I have no doubt there. You'll be in the thick of it soon enough. Try not to dwell on it, distractions can be deadly."

Nodding, Edmund returned his focus to the field below and gasped.

The Witch's army was huge.

Oh, Aslan, why!? He thought.. Why did you take my place? You would be better here than I could ever hope to be. You could protect Peter, and I can't. Why did you have to go and die for me?

He saw Peter shift to look at him, looking for assurance or perhaps to make sure he was ready too, and it took a great deal of strength for Edmund to nod. For that second, he was glad he was so far up from his brother – this way Peter couldn't see the fear and doubt in his eyes.

Edmund saw Peter raise his sword in preparation for their signal to send forth the gryphons. He saw the uneasy shifts of many of the Narnians behind Peter, probably wondering why he was waiting so long, but he saw not a single waiver from his brother.

Then, the signal, Peter's sword fell forward, and Edmund was copying the motion and gesturing with his own blade. Soon, gryphons carrying large rocks were soaring overhead toward the advancing troops. The first cries of the wounded and dying reached his ears and his eyes locked back on the white unicorn and the red tunic of his brother, still unmoving.

Edmund felt the fear build in him as Peter turned to Oreius and said something. Whatever it was that Oreius replied appeared to settle something for Peter because he nodded and then seemed to straighten up on the unicorn's back as he raised his sword and the unicorn reared up on its hind legs.

Even up on the cliff, Edmund could hear his brother's cry.

"For Narnia … and for Aslan!"

And then the unicorn shot forward and Edmund's heart leapt into his throat as his brother led the charge across the battlefield -- him and the white unicorn forming the point of the arrow that was the Narnian army – heading straight for the heart of the Witch's advancing troops.

Before he knew it, the white unicorn and Peter clashed with the enemy and he felt like he was going to break apart inside. His heart had bypassed his throat and was working on prying his teeth open so it could run off screaming in fear.

"Please don't die, please don't die," he chanted under his breath, drawing another concerned gaze from Mr. Beaver, though the Talking Animal chose to say nothing more.

Edmund could make out his brother because of his distinct mount, but that almost made it worse. Every time he saw the sword flash, he knew his brother had killed someone. What was Peter feeling? Was he scared? He must have been, since Edmund was petrified.

The young boy saw the Witch suddenly signal the advance of her second wave of troops, and that was his signal to release the Phoenix. A centaur standing beside him did so on his command and Edmund watched as the bird burst forth from the flames and soared toward the battle raging below.

The Witch releasing her own foul flying creatures was not lost on him and he watched gravely as one of them bore down on the Phoenix. He somehow managed to prevent himself from shifting restlessly as the two creatures drew closer and closer.

A flash of white below drew his attention.

Peter had sheathed his sword and was galloping across the field, ignoring all foes around him. He appeared to be riding toward nothing, but then Edmund saw him snatch an abandoned spear from the ground and raise it, riding directly toward the flight path of the Witch's flying creature.

With a strong throw, Peter released the spear and Edmund watched it soar straight into the creature trying to reach the Phoenix.

Peter had released his sword from the sheath and was already swinging it with striking precision by the time Edmund looked back down at him with a smile.

Maybe his brother was good at this battling evil creatures gig?

Heart a little lighter, he watched the Phoenix create a wall of fire and heard the Narnians around him and below cheer. It was short-lived as the Witch's wand burst through the fire like it was nothing.

Edmund saw Peter falter just briefly before calling the retreat.

Now, Edmund would get to help him. They would draw them to these very rocks. Knowing Peter was coming closer, and knowing he would be there at his back, Edmund's fear flew nearly as fast as the Phoenix had.

Things would be all right.

Both Peter and Quentin were silent as Edmund stopped speaking. The younger Pevensie could tell that some of what he had said surprised Peter. They had talked about it, but this was the first time he had spoken with such detail about his feelings that day.

"I…Ed," Peter started, but shook his head and trailed off. It wasn't often that he was at a loss for words. This was shaping up to be one of those times.

"I'm sorry, Peter," Edmund said. "But…I was twelve. You were my big brother. And you and I both knew going into it that neither of us were sword fighters. Hell, you had never ridden a horse before and suddenly there you were, riding a unicorn at the head of an army." He sighed. "Until you reached the rocks, my heart resided entirely in my mouth. I was afraid I'd never get it back down!"

Quentin was silent, waiting to see what the brothers would do.

Peter composed himself, with difficulty. "I guess I knew you must have been worried," he said. "I just, don't know that there is anything I can do to help you get past thinking about it every time someone mentions Beruna. I still think about you and the Witch, no matter how long or how many talks I have about it."

They lapsed into silence.

Quentin sighed. "Guys," he said. "I think this might be one of those things that you just never forget. It was life-changing, heck I can see that just hearing about it. So, it'll make you pause from time to time. As long as you don't dwell on it, it can't hurt you."

Peter smiled. "I think Quentin's right. We're just going to have memories we don't get over," he said. "This might be one of them. Just like I'll always think of the Witch…the…you know…" he trailed off and Edmund gripped his shoulder. He knew.

Sensing things needed to be lightened, Quentin jumped up, jostling the bed and drawing curious stares from Peter and Edmund. "What?" He said, raising his arms in the air. "I'm excited. I love a good story and I'm sure you two are loaded with them! No more dull nights!"

The boys chuckled and nodded. "If it's good stories you want, you've reconciled with the right friends, Quentin," Peter said with a laugh. He smiled at his friend. "I'm really glad we talked. I hated hiding Narnia from you. It's such a huge part of who we are now."

Realizing the time, the boys all clambered to find the various parts of their uniforms and with a quick blazer switch between Peter and Quentin when they put on the wrong ones, the three hurried out to get dinner before the hall closed.

Dining hall…

"Didn't we have potatoes last night? And the night before? And did I mention the night before that?" Quentin sighed and let a blob of tasteless mashed potatoes plop back onto his plate with a squelch.

Peter shook his head. "What manners, Quen," he said. "Playing with your food…goodness." He ducked his head when Quentin smacked his left shoulder. "Hey, no beating on the guy with the crutch!"

From across the table, Edmund chuckled. "Sure, Peter, use that as a handicap," he said. Then he frowned, "Well, I suppose it is technically a handicap, isn't it? Eish, I'll need to think up a new taunt when you pull that one."

He watched as Peter piled the empty plates on the three trays and pushed himself off the edge of the bench until he was standing at the table's head with a small smile. "I'll show you handicap, Ed," he said, reaching down and picking up the trays and plates in his left hand.

Turning around, he moved off toward the kitchen window where students were depositing their dirty dishes. He'd done this a few times before, but never with three trays and three sets of dishes. It was a lot heavier for his one free hand.

Maybe it was a sixth sense he'd developed as a swordfighter, but Peter knew before they reached him that someone meant to trip him and sure enough, a foot shot out in front of his crutch, intending to take it out from under him.

Instead, Peter stopped short and the person whose foot had come out stumbled in surprise. The stopping nearly dislodged Peter's hold on the trays, but after a brief wobble he readjusted his grip and glared into the face of Rupert Halliwell.

Recovering from the failed trip, and seeing Peter's wobbling hold on the trays, the other boy smirked. "Clumsy, Pevensie? Maybe you should leave the dishes to your servant boy, Edmund."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I've got it, Halliwell," he said, swinging his crutch around the boy's outstretched foot and putting it down past him, intending to keep moving toward the kitchen window.

No such luck. A hand shot out and grabbed his blazer and Peter nearly dropped the trays again as he lurched to a sudden stop. His right arm ached as he awkwardly put more weight than normal on it when his balance shifted to the right and his leg couldn't take any of it.

"Hey, did I say I was done talking, Pevensie? No, I didn't."

Peter's glare could have melted even the most stalwart warrior and Halliwell was no where near that stature. He shrank back uncertainly at the fire in the blonde's eyes.

"Back off, Halliwell," he said quietly, but with deadly precision. "I've enough to deal with without a bored bully trying to trip me. Get a life and stop wasting your time picking on people for the sake of making yourself appear stronger. It just makes you seem all the weaker."

With a swift move, he leaned onto his left leg, balancing, and swept Halliwell off his feet with the bottom of his crutch. Feigning surprise, he looked up. "Oh, sorry, clumsy moment," he said.

There were laughs from the nearby students who had been watching the interaction with interest. Peter saw Halliwell's face turn purple with embarrassment and rage.

He ignored him and moved toward the kitchen again just as Edmund and Quentin materialized at his side, his brother glaring at the boy on the floor waving off his sidekicks Martin and Hank and drawing himself to his feet.

Halliwell's eyes burned into Peter's back, but he refused to turn back toward him. The boy wasn't worth his time. Or his ire. It was annoying, but Peter wouldn't let it anger him. There would always be immature people in the world, and it looked like Rupert Halliwell was going to be one of them for a very long time.

"Are you all right, Peter?" Edmund questioned, taking the trays and pushing them across the window to the waiting staff woman. "We didn't see Halliwell until you were knocking him down. He didn't do anything, did he?"

Peter shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't handle, Edmund," he said nonchalantly. "I think he would have liked to have tripped me, but he was obviously unsuccessful."

Edmund laughed. "Obviously, as he was the one on the ground…"

Quentin patted Peter on the back. "You better watch it, Pete," he said with a smile. "The school might start thinking that crutch is a weapon and might try and take it away. Imagine having to crawl to classes." He leaned in closer. "Do Kings crawl?"

Peter swatted him and laughed. "Very funny."

Since it was Friday, the boys went back to their room but had no intention of doing any form of studying. After all, besides fencing club, they had the whole weekend to worry about schoolwork.

Quentin was practically bouncing in his shoes when he shut the door to his and Peter's room with a sharp bang. "Okay!" he said, rounding on his friends. "I've heard the battles and the mayhem. Now, let's hear about the pretty princesses and the high life. It can't have all been battles, right?"

Edmund and Peter exchanged glances at the other boy's enthusiasm. "Well, no, it wasn't," Peter said. "Matter of fact, as we got further into our reign, and defeated most of the remnants of the Witch's followers, we had quite a few … suitors show up at Cair Paravel."

Quentin's eyes widened. "Suitors? As in, looking to marry you?"

At Peter's nod, he shook his head. "But you were only fifteen! And Edmund there was only, what, twelve? Why in blazes would you have suitors at those ages!?"

Edmund rolled his eyes. "That's what I always wondered at first," he said. "But think about it, we were Kings and Queens. And naturally, other kingdoms that fell under Narnia's rule wanted to secure good relations with us. To them, that meant marrying into our kingdom." He trailed off when he saw the glint in his brother's eyes. His own widened in realization. "No, Pete. Just…no."

"What?" Quentin said. "No brother-to-brother telepathy or anything here. No what?"

"I've a proposition," Peter said loftily. "Quen, we'll each tell you a story of the other's worst suitor. You be the judge on which story is better. Whoever tells the better story, gets to … um … well, we'll think of the reward later."

Edmund buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no," he said. "I just know what story you're going to tell Peter! That's positively beastly of you, you know?"

His brother laughed. "Are you backing out, Ed?"

A glare was his answer.

"Peter's worst suitor probably occurred when he was seventeen. We had been Kings for just over a year, and there was one suitor that would have made the biggest harlot in all of Britain look like an innocent angel," Edmund said instead. "Her name was Lady Samalta and she was a nightmare."

Beside him, Peter paled and suddenly didn't look like he was thrilled with his grand scheme to embarrass Edmund. This story, depending on how his brother told it, might have him blushing for a week…

The delegation from Galma arrived in the morning – and by the afternoon, Peter wished he could call in sick to his High King duties just to avoid the disaster that was Lady Samalta.

Flinging himself, fully-clothed, onto his bed, he covered his eyes with his arm. "Ed!" he cried. "I can't take it! She hit on me five times in five minutes! That's some gushing 'marry-me' comment every minute."

From the doorway, Edmund laughed. "She's persistent, Peter," he said with a chuckle. "But admit it, she is gorgeous. You could do much worse."

"I would rather be courted by the ugliest woman in Galma if she let me breathe between her confessions of love," he groaned. "The woman knew nothing more than my name and she was already professing her devotion to me!"

Sitting up, he straightened his back and launched into his best rendition of Lady Samalta.

"Oh, High King Peter," he gushed in a nasal voice. "You have the most beautiful eyes. I could just look at them all day, for the rest of my life. Oh, High King Peter, you're such a stalwart warrior. I've heard tales of your greatness and I know if we were married we could built a strong alliance between Narnia and Galma."

He huffed, pulling his voice back to normal. "Ed," he said with a shake of his head. "She is a nightmare, pure and simple." Standing in front of his brother, he took hold of his shoulders. "What do I do? Come on, you always have my back in battle. This is killing me, you have to help!"

Edmund's eyes were wide. "You really are bothered by her, aren't you?" he said with a small frown. "They're just words, Peter. Words never bothered you before. What's different now?"

When Peter averted his eyes and turned away, Edmund knew it was more than just overzealous confessions of love that was getting to Peter. His brother didn't appear ready to be forthcoming, so Edmund trooped after him to the balcony.

"Pete?"

With a sigh, his 17-year-old brother turned back to him. "It's not just her words, Ed," he said. "Whenever she could today, she would brush up against me or turn words just right so that I was alone giving her a tour of something. She wouldn't back down."

Edmund frowned. "Did you tell her to?"

Peter scrunched his face. "No…"

Throwing his hands up in the air, Edmund glared at Peter. "As she so often pointed out, you're the High King, Peter," he said. "You have every right to tell her to stop her advances, you aren't interested! Besides, I'm your brother and I say you're too young to get married. Unless Narnia was going to fall or something and everything depended on it, there's nothing pushing you to do anything right now."

Peter leaned on the balcony. "I don't want to hurt her feelings, Ed."

With a scowl, Edmund shook his head. "Something tells me with guts like she seems to have, you wouldn't be the first to turn her down."

Peter looked sideways at his little brother and shook his head too. "Edmund, when did you grow old and cynical?" He jumped away as Edmund launched a smacking attack on his arm. "What? I'm serious!"

But he wasn't really and soon the brothers erupted into laughter and were chasing each other around the room.

"Well if you were so childish in each other's presence, it's a good thing you didn't get married, Peter," Quentin laughed. Then he blanched. "You didn't, right? Get married?"

Peter laughed and shook his head. "No, I took Ed's advice and told her my feelings," he said. "Now, the story I have about Edmund was when…" he jerked as Edmund smacked him in the back of the head. "Hey!"

"I'm not finished," the younger boy said with a huge grin on his face. "Nice try, Peter."

He continued the tale as Peter ruefully rubbed his head and grumbled about "mean little brothers."

Edmund watched Lady Samalta's face turn from a coy grin into a positively feral scowl as Peter drew them to a halt in the gardens below. Uh-oh, the young King thought to himself as the woman stepped back and clutched her chest. Wonder what she's saying to him?

Peter frantically tried to console the woman, but she turned and stormed off, muttering furiously to herself. Edmund ducked back out of sight as she came beneath the balcony and could make out her words.

"I'll show him he's wrong," she seethed. "I'll show him what he's missing."

Edmund frowned. Was that a threat? Was she going to hurt Peter?

"She wouldn't dare," he said, shaking his head. "He's the High King. That would be just stupid. No… I'll bet she's planning some sort of overly romantic gesture to try and win him. This is going to be so much fun to watch!"

Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he poked his head back over the edge of the balcony just as Peter drew beneath it. "Oy, Peter!" he called out. His brother backtracked and craned his head. "Didn't go so well?"

Peter pinched his nose. "No," he said. "She wasn't pleased with my rejection. She told me I'd see reason soon and she might accept an apology then. Nightmare, Edmund, nightmare."

His brother laughed. "Poor King Peter…a beautiful woman loves you and you can only think of it as a nightmare," he taunted. "Whatever will we do with you?"

Peter didn't answer. He just scowled at his brother and continued walking.

"It wasn't until the next morning that we learned what her romantic gesture had been," Edmund said, eying Peter's rapidly reddening face with a grin. "It wasn't flowers or a picnic like I half expected it to be."

Face flustered and nightclothes clutched tightly around him, High King Peter toppled out his door and onto the ground of the corridor outside his room, drawing the stares of the nearby faun guards.

"Sire? Are you well?" one of them asked, stepping closer. "Do you and the lady need assistance?"

Peter mouthed the word "lady", but shook his head at the faun. "N…no. Fine. Just fine. Carry on," he drew himself to his feet and gulped, peering back into his room to find Lady Samalta, now covered by his blankets, glaring at him from his bed. His bed.

"That's not the reaction I was expecting, King Peter," she said somewhat snidely. "Few tumble out of the room when they see my beauty." She hiked the blanket up further. "You would actually be the first. Do you not find me attractive? Would I not make a good wife?"

Peter, coming only so far into his room as to be in the room and not the hallway, sighed shakily. "You are a beautiful woman, my Lady," he said, appeasing her obvious overly large sense of vanity. "And you would make an excellent wife." He gestured to his washroom. "But for someone else. Now would you please … compose … yourself and let me get some sleep?"

Huffing, the woman dropped the blanket and Peter spun around with a blush. He could hear her stomping to his washroom and the angry grunts as she tugged on something.

As she brushed past him, he saw the pale blue dressing gown and let out a little sigh of relief. Clothing was a blessing.

Just outside the doorway, she turned and put her hands on her hips. "Well, King Peter," she said. "If you cannot appreciate true beauty when it is all but given to you, I cannot in good faith marry you. I am sorry."

Peter was left gaping in her wake.

Quentin was laughing his head off on the floor, too breathless to even speak right away. When he did, it was still halting. "She…turned…turned it…oh Peter!"

Peter grumbled. "Yeah, she made it seem like I had been courting her and she was turning me down," he said with a small smile at the memory. "Just another example of that legendary vanity. And it did become legendary. The woman never married while we were in Narnia, and she was of a very noble family."

Edmund laughed. "She was just unbearable!"

The brothers dissolved into laughter too when Quentin didn't seem able to stop and for a few moments, no one spoke and all of them attempted to catch their breath. When they managed to stop laughing, one of them would invariably snort and start again.

Finally, Peter held up his hands. "We…wait…we have one more story," he said, looking at Edmund who was holding his stomach from all the laughing. I still have to tell you about Ed's worst suitor."

The younger Pevensie paled. "Oh, Peter, I so hope you aren't thinking what you probably are thinking," he muttered, glancing up at his brother and then shaking his head with a groan. "You are. I know it!"

Peter smiled sweetly at him and turned to Quentin to begin the tale. "This incident happened just after Ed had turned fifteen. We had been ruling for three years."

The Just King blushed as he accepted another token of an admirer's appreciation. This time, a beautiful bouquet of cherry blossoms gathered together in a small crystal vase.

Peter was practically biting his own hand trying not to laugh as the servant girl bowed and backed away from the younger King with a small smile on her face. Edmund held the flowers as if they were about to bite him.

"Stop laughing, Peter," he growled.

His brother burst out laughing instead. "First candies. Then a love poem. Now a bouquet of flowers," he gasped. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say these were tokens meant for Susan!"

Edmund glared at his brother, still holding the blossoms, and put his other hand on his hip. "It's a very … manly … bouquet," he said with bravado. "Not at all frivolous with lace and sprigs of bright colors in an extravagant vase like Susan receives all the time."

Peter nearly fell off his throne. "Ed," he gasped, even more hard pressed to speak than before. "They're…pink!"

The younger King frowned at the bouquet in his hand and sighed. The blossoms were pink. He didn't answer as Susan and Lucy chose that moment to enter the throne room and both of them saw him holding the bouquet out toward Peter, who was sitting in front of him.

Edmund saw the look in his older sister's eyes and followed her gaze. "It's…it's not," he groaned. "It's not what it looks like, Su."

She laughed. "It's all right, Ed," she said. "You can give Peter flowers if you want to, even though it is something you'd give a girl."

Edmund smacked his forehead and walked away, muttering the whole while about a crazy suitor who must think he was a girl or something. "Though, Edmund is not a girl's name!"

Peter paused as Edmund grumbled from the bed, still not picking his head up. "In order to understand the rest of the story, let me tell you a little about a very unique Narnian species."

Quentin's eyes widened as Peter spoke.

"No way." he said, shaking his head at Peter finished the explanation. "Oh, Peter, keep going. What happened next?"

Edmund poked his head up. "Can't I just forfeit?" he whined. But Peter quickly shook his head and the younger boy sighed. "All right." He planted his face back into the mattress and shook his head.

After the candies, poem, flowers, and now the basket of nuts, Edmund was dying to find out who this suitor was so he could tell them he wasn't interested already. Sitting on his throne after an exhausting round of negotiations with a particularly stubborn posse of dwarves, Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm fifteen and I'm dealing with suitors," he groaned. "Not just normal girls, but ones who hide their identity from me and make me wonder." He looked up and nearly groaned again. A messenger.

"Your Majesty," the Badger said, bowing low. "I carry a message to you from one who calls themselves – " he glanced at the missive – "Cherry Blossom."

That peeked his interest. "Give it here, good Badger," he said, holding out his hand as he stood and met the Talking Animal halfway. This could very well be the day he would be rid of these girly gifts once and for all.

Opening the folded paper, he read:

Dearest King Edmund,
The love of my life and my bow of strength,
I hope you enjoyed my gifts to you. I should
very much like to meet you in person. I'd be
most delighted if you stopped by the
east garden today at noon .
-- Cherry Blossom

It was almost noon now!

Tucking the letter into his tunic pocket, Edmund turned around and nearly bowled over his brother. Peter was smiling. "So your admirer is finally revealing herself," he said with a chuckle. "In the east garden? This I should very much like to see."

Edmund growled at his brother, but said nothing, marching off toward the east garden with Peter following behind. It was pointless to argue with him, it was a free castle and Peter could go where he liked. Even the east garden.

As he stomped down the corridors and around bends, he thought on how he would let this poor girl down gently. Rounding the final turn and seeing the open archway into the garden, he slowed to a sedate walk and plastered a neutral expression on his face.

He could hear Peter slowing down behind him and wanted to grumble, but chose to try and ignore his brother instead. Moving out into the bright sunlight of the day, he squinted and looked around, trying to make out this elusive "Cherry Blossom" person.

Soon he was frowning.

All he saw was a Dryad.

There was no girl in the gardens.

Wait.

He heard barely restrained laughter behind him. What did Peter know that he didn't? Frowning deeper, he looked around again and still spotted no one. But the Dryad was coming closer, he could ask her.

"Good Dryad," he said as she reached him. "Have you seen a lady? One who might be waiting for someone?"

There was a flutter of pink leaves as the Dryad laughed. "I have, King Edmund," she said, her voice a tinkling sound not unlike a young girl. "A young maiden who has been waiting weeks to meet you."

Edmund looked at the Dryad expectantly. "Where is she?"

If a Dryad could frown, Edmund imagined this one was doing it. "Right in front of you, sire," she said, somewhat miffed. "Did you not receive the tokens? The cherry candies, the cherry blossoms, the poem, the nuts from the tree beside my cherry tree?" She fluttered again. "Did you not understand the name?"

Edmund very nearly matched the Dryad's leaves, so pink with astonishment he turned. "I…I…you…'Cherry Blossom'?"

Another flutter and a chuckle. "Yes, my King," the tree spirit said, rearranging her leaves so it appeared she was curtsying. "I am glad to meet you in person, King Edmund, for I have long hoped to lay my gaze on you."

Stepping back in shock, Edmund gulped. "I…you…well I, pleased to meet you too," he stuttered. His mind was moving a mile a minute. A Dryad. In love with me? Courting me? A Dryad. As in, a tree spirit that takes the form of a human but is really just…well…leaves? How, what, why?

"G…good Dryad," he said slowly. "You cannot fancy me."

There was a violent rustle of leaves. "Whatever do you mean, my King?," Cherry Blossom said with confusion. "I know what I feel and I love you. You are wonderful. You are so kind and true and brave. You are my King."

Perhaps Peter took pity on his brother, or perhaps he couldn't hear from where he was standing, but the High King soon drew abreast of the two with a broad smile. "Edmund, there you are, dear brother," he said, nodding to the Dryad. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

The Dryad ruffled but said nothing.

Edmund swallowed. "I was just telling Cherry Blossom here," he paused at the name to see Peter's reaction. There was only a marginal raising of the eyebrows. "I was telling her that she cannot fancy me. We are so different…"

The eyebrows went the rest of the way up. "Were you?" He turned to the Dryad. "My good Dryad," he said with a smile. "My brother is a most worthy young man. But he is right, I do not think you fancy him. What about my brother excites you?"

She repeated the things she had said to Edmund.

The younger King sighed lightly and gently spoke. "Cherry Blossom. I think you might think you like me, but really you like the idea of me. I am all those things, but I am also a Human and I am very different from you. I just don't think it would work between us."

The tinkling voice was obviously distressed. "But, I…I don't understand."

Edmund's eyes begged Peter to do something.

The High King bit his lip. "King Edmund will be required to sire heirs, dear spirit," he said quietly. "That is something the two of you could not produce. Do not waste your days pining for him when you are perhaps in love with what he represents, not he himself. There are many Dryads who would drop all their leaves to be with one as beautiful as yourself."

Peter imagined if Dryad's could blush, Cherry Blossom might be. Her voice was lighter as she said, "I…I guess you are right. I do not know King Edmund, but I admire him and his ways," she said slowly. "But…is there no chance?"

Edmund shook his head lightly. "We could perhaps be friends, Cherry Blossom, but nothing more."

With another ruffle, she assented and drifted away leaving Peter and Edmund standing together in the garden. "I feel bad," Edmund said. "She meant well. She just…well…we wouldn't have worked!"

Peter patted him on the shoulder. "No, you wouldn't have," he said matter-of-factly. "Imagine trying to hug? Or…or…goodness, actually don't imagine, it boggles the mind. She will be fine, Ed. Come on. I cannot wait to tell Susan and Lucy who your admirer has been all these weeks."

Quentin was stone silent.

Not moving.

Staring at Edmund. The dark-haired boy peeked his head up, wondering why there was no laughter. He soon found out, as Quentin had waited until he was looking before breaking down into hysterical laughter, tears streaming down his face.

"Leaves…leaves…I can't," he shook his head. "You…babies…not…"

Peter chuckled at Edmund's shaking head and watched Quentin wipe tears from his eyes. "It is rather difficult to describe, isn't it Quen?" he said. "Cherry Blossom went on to marry a very sturdy Oak tree Dryad named Owan. They were quite happy together. Edmund performed their ceremony."

Quentin burst out laughing again. "I just can't imagine!" he said, shaking his head and still staring at a sheepish Edmund. "You're cute, but interspecies cute? What in the world did she see in you? You're…not…just…I'm dead, Peter. You killed me with that story."

The blonde perked up at that. "Does that mean I win?"

Quentin nodded. "Hands down, mate. Sorry, Edmund, but, leaves…you have to agree."

Edmund smiled lightly and then laughed too. "Yeah, I suppose that was definitely one of the worst suitors any of us dealt with in Narnia," he said. "Not that she was a bad sort, it was just a really bad match!"

Turning to Quentin fully, he said, "So, what do I have to do since I lost, Quen?"

The other boy thought for a moment and then smiled wickedly. "Clean our room for the rest of the week," he said happily. "We'll make sure to keep it nice and messy so you don't run out of things to clean up!"

Edmund groaned and Peter laughed and agreed.

Over the next few days, things were looking up for Peter.

He was moving around better, doing well in his classes, and the mid-term holiday was approaching so he would be able to see Susan, Lucy and their mother soon.

But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down – and sayings only went down in history if there was some merit to them. Peter's day had started out well, but it was about to come crashing down.

Hefting the book bag on his left shoulder, Peter set off for the secluded willow tree on the very edge of the school grounds. When Edmund and Quentin were in classes, he would come out here to work quietly or read a book.

The blonde boy reached the tree without incident, but his brows furrowed when three boys came out from behind it – identical malicious grins on their faces.

Rupert Halliwell and his cronies Hank and Martin.

"Pevensie," Halliwell said with a smile as Hank flanked Peter on the left and Martin on the right. "You're such a goody-boy, why don't we see if we can upset that balance, shall we?" He nodded to Hank, who reached forward and yanked Peter's book bag off his shoulder before the older boy could react.

It was transferred to Rupert's hands and the boy, smiling sweetly, upended it – scattering the neatly done homework, books, pens and pencils across the ground at their feet. If the wind picked up anymore, the work would blow away so with a deep scowl, Peter pulled his crutch out from under his arm and bent to the ground.

His left leg trembled with the effort of holding his weight and his right leg was awkwardly folded under him. If it had feeling, he imagined the position it was in might hurt.

Snatching papers first since books wouldn't blow off, he said nothing to the boys still standing over him, laughing at his unsteady progress. He moved to grab his last assignment, Latin that had taken him a few hours to complete, but jerked his hand back when a foot came crashing down on top of it, caked with mud.

Looking up, Peter glared at Rupert Halliwell.

"Nice to see you groveling for a change," the boy said, then leaned closer. "But I saw what happened with those Redcaps. Did you grovel for them, pleading with them not to put you in jail for deserting the army? Begged, did you?"

Anger rushed through Peter at the other boy's words. He wanted nothing more than to leap to his feet, brandish a sword and scare the wits out of Rupert Halliwell. But he wouldn't be doing any leaping, and he had no sword in England.

But he did have one thing. Memories. Of being High King Peter the Magnificent. There was no reason he couldn't emulate his kingly manners here – he needed no sword, nor two good legs.

Tightly grasping the crutch in his right hand, he used it to haul himself up. Older and taller than Rupert, Hank and Martin, he used his full height to his advantage and stared down at them, focusing mostly on the ring-leader.

In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "You have no idea what I went through, and I honestly hope you never will. War is no game. I know that better than anyone in this school save the Headmaster…" And Edmund. But he couldn't say that to them. "Desertion is the worst kind of cowardice and I don't take it kindly when you accuse me of it, Halliwell. The Army has seen fit to believe me, surely you don't think a 16-year-old could pull one over on the British Army? If you do, you're more naïve than I thought you were."

He moved closer to Rupert, cocking his head to the side when the other boy leaned back, but didn't step back. Looking down pointedly, he returned his gaze to Rupert's. "That's my Latin homework you're standing on, and unless you wish to get acquainted with this ground, I suggest you move off of it."

Grudgingly, the other boy did so. Peter stooped down and picked it up, frowning at the mud obliterating half the work. As he was straightening up, Halliwell opened his mouth again and really put his foot in it.

"Like I said to your brother, you're probably faking that bum leg just to get out of going back to fight. Or to get off from those desertion charges. You're probably as big a coward as your brother."

Peter balled his hands into fists, the one clutching his crutch so tightly he was momentarily afraid he might crack it. Eyes blazing, he still did not snap, but his voice took on a deadly calm instead of just a dangerous one.

"When you go to war, and fight in a battle against superior numbers, and get shot and left bleeding to death on a rainy battlefield, then you may come to me and have some inkling of credence to your words," he said. "Until such a day comes, you know nothing of what you speak, and would do well to shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

Hank and Martin shifted beside Rupert. "Mate, let's just go," Hank said warily, Peter's seething anger not lost on the stocky boy. "This ain't worth it. He's got too many fancy words and could go on for days."

Rupert glared at him. "Are you saying he can talk circles around me, Hank?"

The other boy frowned and shook his head quickly. "No, Rupe, but his brother and Connors are coming. I don't fancy getting detention, mate."

Seeing Edmund and Quentin running towards them, Rupert glared up at Peter again. "This isn't over, Pevensie. You might have a way with words, but with that leg, you're no match for our fists. Watch yourself."

The three boys stalked off just as Edmund and Quentin arrived, breathless.

"Peter?" Edmund panted. "What happened?"

The blonde turned his still murderous gaze on his brother. "Nothing," he barked, looking down at the ruined work still in his left hand. "I have it sorted. Let's just get to work. I have to redo this, the teacher will never take it with all the mud."

Quentin was scooping up Peter's strewn books and supplies silently, and Peter's gaze softened a little as he saw the hurt in Edmund's eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Edmund shook his head and turned away.

Frowning, Peter followed him. "I'm sorry, Ed," he said quietly. "They really hit home that time."

The younger boy turned back. "What did they say, Peter? You were positively seething when we got here."

Peter sighed and related the conversation. Edmund looked ready to leap up and chase the three boys down for a sound beating, but Peter shook his head. "We'll leave it alone," he said. "They're just words. They hurt when he said them, but I've been through worse. I'll be fine."

Quentin shook his head. "Mate, those three tend to fulfill their promises of future beatings," he said. "You really are going to have to watch yourself. We'll be watching too, of course."

Edmund was frowning. He had thought the danger for Peter was over when the MPs had let him go, when they had thwarted the Telmarines in Narnia. It appeared the Pevensies simply got no break from bodily danger.

He vowed to keep as close an eye on Peter as he could without stifling his brother.

A/N: Pretty, pretty please review?? I might be persuaded to make more pretty pictures if you do…