Author's Note: This story was written for the wonderful Caleon, who graciously prompted me with "anything older Edmund" in the NFFR Secret Santa Fanwork Exchange. Merry Christmas!

The Last Charade

Edmund Pevensie, once the Just King of a land called Narnia, was nineteen years old for the second time as he and his elder brother Peter set off in the very early morning on an unexpected journey. Instead of the usual errands he had planned to run that Saturday, he found himself traveling into a part of London he'd never visited before with the intention of committing a crime.

Well, perhaps that isn't the most accurate way to put it, he thought. For after all, was it really a crime to take back someone's own possessions? And furthermore, if the person from whom said possessions were being taken was completely unaware that they existed at all, did he really have a claim to them?

Edmund smiled to himself. It was good to be contemplating judgment and justice again, and even more interesting that the would-be accused was Edmund himself.

He was walking down a narrow street in a residential area of London with which he was for the most part unfamiliar. They'd been able to take the Underground most of the way, and now had only a very little distance to trek before reaching their destination. The city was mostly asleep, as it was still early in the morning and a Saturday to boot. The sun had only erupted over the horizon an hour or so before, bathing the red-brick buildings in a host of glorious colors that gradually faded as the day began in earnest. Now the world was completely lit up, bathed in the sunshine of a brilliantly cloudless summer day.

To his side strode his elder brother Peter, his collar turned up against the early morning chill. The two of them had traveled in silence for much of their journey, each wrapped in his own thoughts about the task to be done. Edmund wondered at what Peter, his face set in rigid determination, was thinking at that particular moment; if he was contemplating the rights and wrongs of their future deed as Edmund was, or if his mind was elsewhere. As usual, Peter's expression was indecipherable, even to the man who knew him best in the world.

Despite whatever small worry was present concerning the exact lawfulness of their undertaking, Edmund also felt a familiar thrill that fluttered somewhere in his stomach. This wasn't his first undercover quest on Narnia's behalf; this wouldn't be the first theft he undertook for the good of his country. Espionage and the necessary but dirtier parts of diplomacy had been his particular forte, and some part of Edmund, perhaps a part left over from who he'd been Before, reveled in the thrill of them.

He recalled an especially difficult mission to Terebinthia, where his objective had been to recapture a scroll of classified information that had been lifted by a member of the recently-departed Terebinthian envoy. Rather than draw attention to the theft and risk an international incident, not to mention the interest and involvement of other nations who would have died to learn the secrets and records that that scroll had contained, Edmund had taken it upon himself and a very few hand-picked associates to infiltrate the tiny island nation and steal it back. It hadn't been easy, and they'd quite nearly been caught a couple of times – he still didn't know what they would have done had Evanova not created that bar-fight diversion – but in the end it was Edmund who had strode into the private royal study with the offending scroll in his triumphant fist.

"Left here," came the quiet interruption of Peter's voice, and the two of them turned the corner and continued their walk in silence.

The mission on which he found himself now wasn't nearly so exciting, and there wasn't remotely as much to be lost or gained, but still Edmund undertook it with all the solemnity and adrenaline that he had felt a hundred times before. Today they were dressed as workmen, in clothes borrowed from Professor Kirke's unknowing handyman and nicked from the clean laundry. Edmund couldn't help but grin when he looked over at his brother, who couldn't have looked less like a workman if he was wearing a pair of Susan's nylons. It wasn't that there was any shame in being the sort of man who was called upon to fix drains; indeed, Edmund had met his fair share of citizens of the so-called working class who'd shown as much nobility as the greatest of Narnian knights. Rather, it was just that Peter, since the dinner, had been looking so very kingly that it was hard to imagine him as anyone whose head wasn't meant for a crown.

There was also the issue of the clothes themselves, as his older brother was a size or two too large for the uniform he wore. The seams were too narrow for his broad chest and shoulders, and he'd had to roll the sleeves to his elbows to hide how dreadfully short they were. As for the trousers… well, they'd just have to hope that no one paid attention to how much of the High King's boots and socks stuck out from beneath the hems.

For his part, Edmund was still the chameleon he had always been. The workman's clothing seemed made for him, as if Edmund himself was made for their ruse. Upon studying himself in the mirror that morning, he'd found his appearance most convincing. There was nothing in Edmund's face to draw attention; he was easily able to shed the kingly bearing that Peter probably didn't even know he possessed. His was the sort of face that no one would bother to remember because he was able to appear so very normal: handsome but not dazzling, intelligent but not intimidating, confident but not ostentatious.

Edmund was playing the game again, and he grinned at the comfortable familiarity of it. He'd had ample experience disguising his thoughts and his features. Peter, on the other hand, had never been a good actor, as he was both too noble for dubious deeds and an appallingly terrible liar. It seemed that little had changed on that front, judging by the High King who was so obvious despite attempts to disguise his nobility in workman's clothes. Edmund, however, had had a lot of practice with lying Before, and therefore had only a little trouble adapting his talents to suit his charades of espionage. At first it had felt wrong, an icy snake twisting up his spine as the lies came to his lips, but as he learned to forgive himself for every other evil he'd done Before he discovered that lying in defense of Right and Truth and Peace and Justice was a very different matter entirely. It was the conversion of his former flaws and weaknesses into tools and skills that had brought about Edmund's redemption.

Edmund caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to find Peter studying the directions the Professor had meticulously written out for them.

"Next street, I think," Peter said, glancing up to consult the sign they were just passing. "It won't be far after that; just a few more blocks by the look of it."

Edmund nodded, and within a moment they turned into a derelict-looking neighborhood. It had the dingy feel of a place that had once been quite clean and respectable, but since had fallen into some disrepair and ruin that had nothing to do with the bombs that had rained down in London only a few years earlier.

So much has changed, he reflected as he took in the creeping vines that were overtaking the chipped and discolored bricks. Sometimes it was hard for Edmund to believe that a war had come and gone, that he'd lived an entire adolescence and young adulthood twice over. Other times he felt old, so much older than a nineteen-year-old should feel, even if he'd lived fifteen more years than others his age…

"I think I'm going to tell her soon, Ed," Peter said suddenly, earning a somewhat startled look from his younger brother at the sudden break in the silence and interruption of his thoughts. It took a moment for Edmund to process what Peter had said, but finally he asked,

"Nora?"

Peter nodded, but carefully avoided Edmund's eye. "I think she suspects something already."

"Well, she's a smart girl, a lot smarter than that last one," Edmund replied with a cheeky grin. More seriously, he added, "And you don't exactly do well at hiding the High King sometimes."

A shadow of a grin passed over Peter's features. After a moment's hesitant pause, he added, "Did you ever tell Margaret?"

Edmund shook his head, feeling that tiny but acute pain in his midsection that always seemed to accompany that name nowadays. "Almost," he replied. "When it started getting serious, and she seemed to be catching on …" He trailed off, deliberately returning his wandering mind to their task at hand and Peter himself. "So it's getting rather serious, then, is it?"

"Yes," Peter said, looking over at last. "It rather is. She's… I…"

There was a reason why Edmund, not Peter, had most often been called upon for such tasks as speech-writing, treaty drafting, and annals-keeping. Upon seeing his older brother floundering (and grinning to himself at the mental image of Peter struggling to have a similarly emotional conversation with Nora), Edmund supplied the words.

"She's the closest thing to perfect you've found on this Side."

Peter looked over at his younger brother with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude on his face. "Exactly."

"Do you think she'll understand?"

Peter thought a moment. "You know, I rather think she will."

Edmund, little that he knew Nora, hoped that this was true. All of the Pevensie children had done well adjusting to a life permanently spent in one world only, though they'd gone about it in different ways. His thoughts fleetingly flew to Susan, whose new and growing discomfort with any mention of Narnia was increasingly worrisome for the rest of them, but he repressed those images in favor of the situation at hand. Even though he, Peter, and Lucy had established lives for themselves here in England, Edmund knew that none of them could ever hope to be happy in a marriage with a partner who didn't have at least some understanding, if not complete belief, in the Other World that had meant so much and become such an integral part of them. Narnia was too important, and if marriage was to be a process of two separates becoming one whole, it would be impossible to do so while ignoring such a huge piece.

"I'm happy for you, Peter," Edmund said honestly. Jealous as hell, but happy for you.

"Thanks," Peter replied. He seemed to be weighing his words in his mind, and suddenly they tumbled out almost as if he was afraid of them. "Look, Ed, I'm sorry about you and Margaret…"

Edmund waved a hand, effectively cutting the sentence short in midair.

"Don't worry about it. Isn't this the street?"

Peter didn't seem particularly convinced by his casual tone, but Edmund was right that they'd nearly reached their destination. A final right turn and they were only a building or two away from the rowhouse that had once been the home of a young Digory Kirke.

Although at first the Pevensie children had kept mostly to themselves (understandable, considering the war that had put even greater emphasis on treasuring loved ones for the little time you had them, not to mention their extra-worldly experiences), they soon found that spending time only in each other's company was neither therapeutic nor particularly healthy. When it came time to return to (or, in Lucy's case, begin) school, they'd found most of their old friends waiting for them, and a few new ones, too. Creating and fostering relationships in this world helped to anchor them, to endear to them the place where they lived Now, and to mask the pain the memory of the place they lived Then sometimes caused. Their friends helped them find a way to be happy and feel a sense of belonging in a world where they had at first felt so distant and strange.

It had been difficult, of course, going back to school. He returned from their time at the Professor's a very different child than he had been Before, and it had taken his schoolmates a good while to accustom themselves to this new Edmund. He eventually found his place, though, forging better relationships with some of his Before friends and abandoning others who would have only tempted him. Friends came and went, and as he grew up a new creature, but one he'd met before in another life, appeared.

Girls were suddenly everywhere. He wondered why he'd never noticed.

He'd met and gone steady with a girl who'd reminded him of a particularly enchanting countess from the Seven Isles, and he'd met and loved a girl who didn't remind him of anything Narnian at all. It had hurt when he and Margaret had separated, and although his mother meant well her soothing words of how it was "all a part of growing up, having your heart broken," were less than soothing given that he'd already done a considerable amount of growing up before.

This isn't the time to be thinking about that, Edmund reminded himself, both because Margaret was the last thing he wanted to think about and because the number on the rowhouse before them matched the number on Peter's paper. From then on, it was all business. King Edmund the Just, gifted diplomat, chameleon, thief, and unsung national hero, was back in action.

They counted the number of houses to the end of the row (musing as they did as to which neighbor was once the Plummer home) and backtracked down the street so as to be able to access the backyards. After ensuring that they had chosen the right house, he and Peter carefully climbed the crumbling brick wall and dropped into the tiny, square garden. Edmund's heart pounded with the thrill of their quest as he and Peter checked the windows for signs of early-rising tenants.

There was no talking now except the occasional hushed whisper uttered only out of greatest necessity. Thankfully, years of practice and close living had made the two former Kings masters at reading each others' body language and facial expressions, so little verbal communication was needed. They had quite a job ahead of them; the tree around which the rings had been buried had blown over in a storm ages ago and was turned into the wardrobe that had been the portal through which their first adventures in Narnia had begun. In addition to having no reference point to decide where to start digging, it would also be something of a miracle if no one had located the rings in the time since the house had been sold. The Professor had told them that the holes he and Aunt Polly had dug for the rings had been rather shallow, which might have led to the rings' location by the new owners, but shallow holes also meant that Edmund and Peter wouldn't have to disturb too much ground in order to find what they sought if the rings were still there.

They set to it, trying to judge by the spacing of the few remaining trees where another might have once stood. It took more time than Edmund would have preferred to locate the first of the rings, but at last Peter gave a low whistle and Edmund moved quickly to his side to find his older brother holding out his trowel. Upon it, caked in the dirt and grime of decades spent underground, was the unmistakable shimmer of a golden ring. Edmund held out his gloved hand and Peter overturned the trowel into it. Brushing away the dirt, Edmund deposited the ring into the little sack they'd brought with them.

Once they had a general idea where the rings were hidden, it didn't take long to unearth the rest of them. A green one, its color still brilliant even after so many years, came next, and within moments the two of them had dug up another green and another yellow.

"Should we find the rest?" Peter whispered, dropping his newfound yellow ring into the little sack Edmund held open for him. "We've got enough now for Jill and Eustace to have one green and yellow apiece."

"Might as well collect them all," Edmund muttered in return. "There's no telling what might happen if we don't, who might find them after we've gone."

"That's what I was thinking," Peter nodded, moving away to where he judged the next green one might be buried. "If Aslan wants to call someone to Narnia, he'll have his own way of doing it. Better to have all the rings safe at the Professor's."

And so they spent a few minutes more in the dirt, trying to disturb the earth as little as possible and sparing occasional glances over their shoulders at the still-quiet house. Edmund took one arc of the circle while Peter took the other, and eventually their labors brought them side-by-side as Edmund uncovered the last green ring and Peter the final yellow.

As he carefully tied off the bag and deposited it in the pocket of his workman's clothes, Edmund felt a sudden flash of temptation. It would be so easy to touch one of the yellow rings; he could fumble with his gloves so that it looked like an accident. It wouldn't be hard to find Narnia once he was in the Wood Between the Worlds… surely he'd know it when he saw it and could keep switching greens and yellows and pools and worlds until he did.

As suddenly as it came, however, the temptation departed, and Edmund buttoned the pocket securely. Somewhere inside of him he heard a deep, low rumble that sounded more pleased than angry. Nothing for it, he thought. We're here now, at least until Aslan calls us to his own country. And I should think that that calling will have nothing to do with rings.

Peter had already scaled the decrepit wall and had dropped out of sight, and Edmund, with a final glance at the former Kirke residence, was not far behind.


Author's Endnote: As always, your thoughts are greatly appreciated, especially since this is my first attempt at a Pevensie-centric, Spare Oom fic. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season!