A/N – Sorry, guys, but a small revision has occurred, the ball's already over and if your character's not in yet, chances are I couldn't fit it. Sorry, but I love you all anyway!!

Sam discovered two things very quickly. One-Edmund is not romantic at all. Well, scratch that, he's romantic every now and then. Sam's theory was that he bottled it all up and let it out when the time was right. Usually roughly once every two weeks, when Sam was being sweet instead of cynical. Edmund was always getting injured-jousting, dueling, falling off things-typical Edmund.

Occasionally the wounds were bad, and Edmund would stumble in, his eyes dark with pain. He'd call her name hoarsely, she's call, "WHAT?" and come out in a moment. She'd see Edmund's state, turn a shade or two whiter, and rush to him. He'd strip to the waist and she'd mop up the blood and bandage whatever was hurt, usually a leg or an arm. Then she'd stroke his forehead until the pain subsided, at which point he'd pull her on top of him and kiss her soundly.

The second thing she learned was that a love-struck Peter was almost as crazy as a love-lost Peter; that is, Andy had left to go back home, and though she wrote, she wrote of scores of boring suitors. Peter lived in dread of a not-so-boring suitor to outdo him.

That's why what happened at dinner was so awesome.

The five of them were sitting together, and, as per usual, teasing each other mercilessly.

"Peter, cheer up, if your head droops any farther you're going to be breathing mashed potatoes," Susan prodded.

"Oh, leave him alone, he's just sa-" Sam's defense was cut short by someone bursting into the room.

"Peter!" Peter couldn't believe his eyes. It was Andy! He leapt up, his chair skittering forlornly on the floor, and a grin spread over his chiseled features.

"Andy?"

"Who else?"

Peter swept her up in a sweet embrace. Andy's long hair spilled over his shoulders and he took her face between his hands.

"What ARE you doing here?"

"My father's here for business-I was hoping I could stay with you?"

"We'll figure something out-I'm just glad you're here!' And with that, Peter kissed her hungrily, with the built-up passion of several weeks.

Sam elbowed Edmund. "How come you never do that to me?"

"You leave for a couple weeks, and I'll suck your teeth out like Peter is when you get back."

Sam elbowed him again. "OK, so I deserved that," Edmund admitted.

"Yeah."

Lucy, Susan, Edmund, and Sam all cleared out and left Peter and Andy alone, not that they noticed, they were so absorbed in each other.

Sam and Edmund each went their separate ways, Sam to train in swordfighting, Edmund to a duel. They both returned at the same time, however.

"Dueling? AGAIN?" Sam asked dryly.

"Yes. What were you doing dressed in chain mail with a sword at your hip?"

"Only training. Am I going to have to play nurse again?"

Edmund struggled to get the heavy armor off.

"No. help me get this off, will you?"

Grumbling something about 'undressing a king', Sam unlaced the back and helped pull the breastplate off him.

"OK, you turn," Sam ordered, "help me!"

Obligingly, Edmund worked at the back of her chain mail.

"Sam? In this training…Did you get hurt?"

"Shouldn't have, save for a few bruises."

"Oh, Sam."

"What?!"

Edmund showered her his hand: covered in half-dried blood. Sam paled.

"Calm down," he ordered, "you'll be fine. It's across the back of your stomach, and nowhere near fatal if we bandage it up all right."

"Ed, you don't have to-OWW!"

Edmund had pulled her tunic over her head, yanking where the blood had dried the shirt to her skin and almost reopening the half-healed wound.

"Sorry!"

Sam grimaced. "Just hurry up, Edmund."

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to….Sam?"

Sam hated that. When Edmund got truly remorseful, Sam couldn't ever say no or stay mad.

"It's alright."

Carefully, Edmund cleaned the wound and bandaged it. Sam pulled her tunic back over the camisole she'd been wearing, which was now bloodstained by the way Edmund had had to hike it up over the wound to get to it.

"Thanks," said Sam grudgingly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they were all but obscured the huge crash of thunder, followed by the steady drumming of heavy rain. Sam looked uneasy.

"What's wrong with you?" Edmund asked, curious.

"I don't like thunderstorms…can't sleep during them, either."

"Go get dressed for bed, I think we can get you to sleep."

Sam gave him a murderous glare. He threw up his hands. "Shame on you. Why kind of man do you think I am? That is NOT what I meant."

Sam slammed the door to her room all the same, but came out a few moments later with her hair down and a nightgown on. Edmund was already in his bed, reading.

"What?"

"Don't be cross. I'm only trying to help, I was going to let you stay with me tonight."

Sam wasn't sure if she hated him because he knew it would work or because he sounded like an older brother, not a man interested in her. But she'd solved that problem when she was little by sleeping in her parents' bed.

Murmuring darkly, Sam climbed under the covers.

"You're bed's a lot nicer than mine." Indeed, Edmund's bed had layer after layer of fluffy down blankets and feather pillows.

However, Edmund turned his back on her to turn out the lamp and stayed that way, facing away from her. Thunder crashed again, and Sam instinctively moved closer to him. He rolled over, coming face-to-face with her.

"Scared? Still?"

As if that were an excuse, Edmund moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. Sam snuggled into his chest and discovered she felt completely comfortable and not scared in the least. Edmund tipped her chin up and kissed her softly.

"Still scared?"

Edmund kissed her forehead.

"Nope."