Continuing my mission to revise and "fix" some of my earlier stories here is the revised second part. I may have still missed a few errors, but hopefully this is a better story now. :-) Still don't own Narnia.

September, 1941-December, 1941

If possible, everything only deteriorated further when it came time to return to school. Peter pleaded endlessly with their mother, begging her to reconsider and send Edmund back to Hendon House with him, but she remained stubbornly set against that course of action. It was out of the question, she told him firmly, and when he opened his mouth to argue Peter realised his loss of authority fully. It was no longer his place to say where his brother could and could not be sent, and so he reluctantly bit back the words—it wasn't as if he had a choice.

When the Christmas holidays came Peter was nearly frantic. At first, Edmund answered his letters, even though his replies were short and altogether too much like formal reports, but by mid-November even those replies had ceased. The only comfort came from remembering that the Christmas holidays were approaching, and it would be much more difficult for Edmund to avoid him at home.

It was a terrible shock then, when his mother and sisters arrived to collect him from the train station, and Edmund—who should have already been home three days—was not with them.

His mother seemed dangerously close to tears when he asked her where his brother was, and Lucy sobbed outright, burying her head against his shoulder and refusing to be consoled. In the end it was Susan who told him the whole story, and she sounded as frustrated with the situation as Peter was.

It seemed that Edmund had managed to catch a bad cold and had begged the headmaster for permission to stay at the school through the holidays. Though no one doubted that he was actually sick, Peter could see that Susan shared his suspicion that there was more to Edmund's refusal than sickness. If he wanted to come home a cold wouldn't stop him—they both knew from past experience that he would ride through a blizzard while slowly bleeding to death if it meant being with them at Christmas.

Peter wanted desperately to punch something, but he somehow doubted his mother would approve of such violent action—judging from Susan's warning look neither would she. Lucy simply cried and clung to him, refusing to let go even for their mother to comfort her.

Edmund, you bloody idiot, why? But he knew why. Edmund was following through with his words on the train. He was determined, that if he must go back, he would do so alone. Peter had hoped Edmund would have come to his sense by now, but he realised he should have known better. Still, regardless of whether Edmund believed he as doing the right thing or not, it could not be allowed to continue.

Peter knew he had to go, even if he had to walk. Edmund would be coming home for Christmas and that was final. As it turned out, he didn't have to walk. Their mother might not have fully understood the reason for his urgent request to visit Edmund, but she seemed to understand the necessity, and took him back to the train station without protest.

When he knocked on Edmund's door he thought for a long and terrible moment that his brother wasn't at the school at all. For a panicked heartbeat, Peter entertained the terrifying notion that Edmund was wandering through the snow somewhere—haunted by the Witch's ghost. Then he heard an almost indistinguishable mumble from the other side of the door, and breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

"The door isn't locked, Peter."

In spite of his worry, Peter smiled as he pushed the door open—of course Edmund would know it was him. The smile faded however when he saw how thoroughly miserable his brother looked, huddled in front of the window as he glared down at the snow-covered land.

Not for the first time Peter found himself feeling infinitely grateful that their mother had agreed to let him come alone. She wouldn't understand the conversation they so desperately needed to have; she wouldn't understand why her youngest son was shivering, even though he had wrapped himself in every available blanket. Peter had long since accepted that she might never be able to understand, but he did.

Edmund didn't turn, didn't even look at Peter as he crossed the room to stand beside him at the window. He continued to stare out into the white wasteland, looking far older than he was—at least in England.

"Why didn't you come home?" Peter asked, keeping his voice neutral with effort-Edmund had always been the diplomatic one in Narnia.

"I have a cold."

"The real reason, Ed." Peter found that he was frustrated, despite all his attempts to curb his temper, and clenched his hands into fists at his sides to keep from shaking his brother.

When Edmund finally turned to look at him Peter almost wished he hadn't. His face was pale and dark shadows stood out like bruises under his eyes—eyes that looked far too old and far too haunted for his young face. Peter was painfully reminded of the morning after he had been rescued from the witch.

"You know why; it's going to be Christmas, the same Christmas." He turned back to the window and the snow—as if that settled the matter entirely.

"So you're going to sulk here by yourself?" You aren't the only stubborn one, dear brother.

"I'm not sulking!" The chair crashed against the floor as Edmund leapt to his feet, face suddenly flushed with anger.

Peter nearly smiled. It's about bloody time. Once Edmund started shouting the battle could be considered half won already.

"I'm protecting you; all of you, from me. We're back Peter, do you know what that means? We all have to go back to who we were before. We're not kings and queens anymore, we're just children. That might be okay for you and the girls; you weren't treacherous little beasts! I was—I am."

"Ed-"

"Peter, don't; you can't deny it. I betrayed all of you, and it took years for me to be worthy of being your brother. I've lost those years, and it wouldn't matter, I would spend the same years trying to be worthy again, but I won't have anyone pay that price again. I'm a traitor Peter, but if I don't have anyone to betray then at least that's better for you."

"Let's not forget that I was nearly as much to blame as you were. I treated you terribly, I was unkind and selfish, and—if we're being entirely honest—a complete prat. Do you think I'm still the same as I was?" He set the chair to rights, and Edmund sat down again still refusing to meet his eyes.

"No," he mumbled, barely audible.

"Then we don't have to go back to exactly who we were. We learned and grew in Narnia, maybe we lost the years, but that doesn't mean we have to lose who we became. Come on Eddie, mum will pick us up from the train station, the girls are waiting for you at home, and we miss you. Please come home?" He tried his best to imitate Lucy's incredibly effective pleading expression, and must have succeeded at least to some extent, because Edmund looked nearly ready to give in.

"Do you really think it can be different—even here?" Edmund waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the grey, snow covered grounds beneath the window.

"It already is. Look here Ed, before we went to Narnia you wouldn't have stayed away from home because you were trying to protect us. You wouldn't have worried nearly so much about all this, and you certainly wouldn't have talked to me. You haven't been a traitor in fifteen years—and those years still happened." Peter offered him a hand, and pulled his still reluctant brother to his feet. "Now come on; even if I'm not High King anymore I'm still your older brother. You still have to listen to me."

Edmund grinned impishly, and Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes—he really should have known better. "Peter, when have I ever listened to you?"

"When listening was the best, and most strategic course of action." Peter wasn't entirely willing to let the serious nature of the conversation fade just yet. He knew his brother too well—well enough to know sarcastic humour was Edmund's best defence against admitting how deeply some things still affected him.

"Fair enough," he was surprised when Edmund conceded the point without further argument. "Just promise me one thing; help me remember who I became in Narnia?

Peter nodded, finally allowing himself to feel relieved. It was rare for Edmund to ask for help, but when he did it meant he was ready to accept it—ready to listen. "I will never let you forget, little brother."

"Younger brother," Edmund corrected, scowling—though Peter knew he didn't mind as much as he appeared to—and followed.

"Mum?" Peter hated the now familiar sensation of nervousness he felt before speaking with his mother. He knew that whatever he asked she had the authority to say no, and there would once more be nothing he could do.

She looked up, slightly distractedly, from the mound of potatoes she was peeling and smiled. "What is it, dear?"

"It's about Edmund."

She paused, knife poised above a potato, and raised her eyebrows. "Nearly everything seems to be about Edmund these days. The girls have already been in here, begging me to send him back to school with you next term. I expect that's what you're on about as well?"

Peter nodded, unsurprised that Lucy and Susan had already preceded his request with their own.

His mother sighed, and returned to peeling the potatoes, frowning in concentration. "I'm inclined to agree that it might be best after all, but what I don't understand is why. Last year the two of you were barely speaking, when you came back from the country everyone seemed terribly worried about him and Edmund was nearly as sullen as ever, and now the three of you have fussing over him all week—like you expect him to vanish any moment."

Two of us, at least, Peter corrected her silently. Susan and Lucy had been fussing in characteristically concerned manners, but Peter liked to think he had retained enough dignity not to join them. It was no good telling her why the girls would barely let Edmund out of their sight, but he supposed it must be very confusing.

"I really can't explain it, mum-not very well at least, but rather a lot happened in the Country. Things are different now-" he was interrupted when the back door burst open to admit Lucy, red-face and panting, and behind her came a very disreputable looking person-who was nearly entirely covered in snow.

"Edmund?!" His mother sounded nearly as shocked as Peter felt. They both stared at Edmund in open mouthed amazement as both he and Lucy froze guiltily.

Lucy giggled, pulling off her icy mittens and rubbing her hands together for warmth. "Edmund fell into a snowbank," she offered helpfully.

Edmund glared at her, shaking the snow from his hair. "Oh really, Lu? That's what you're calling it these days when you trip me and bury me in snow."

Lucy, still giggling, threw her mittens at him, paused for a heartbeat to drop a quick kiss on their mother's cheek, and ran. Edmund shook his head, glaring after her in mock indignation.

"Children," he grumbled good-naturedly, pulling off his snow-encrusted coat.

Peter stared at him. "You were out in the snow?"

"Obviously." He grinned, seeming not at all bothered, and Peter still couldn't quite believe it.

"Obviously indeed," their mother interjected, shaking her head. "You're tracking it all over the floor."

"Sorry mum, I'll get the mop." Still grinning he hurried off, tracking snow after him. Peter exchanged a surprised look with his mother-though he suspected they were surprised for entirely different reasons.

Snow? By the time they left Narnia Edmund hadn't exactly hated snow anymore, but he had still been reluctant to venture out into it unless absolutely necessary. Edmund it seemed, was not only ready to listen, but to let go.

"It would seem things have changed," she said quietly, still staring at the doorway her youngest son had vanished through. "He hasn't been that happy to play with Lucy in years, or willing to clean up after himself."

Peter smiled, sensing victory was within his reach. "He's changed, mum, he really has." Please see how much.

She shook her head still amazed, before turning back to the potatoes with a smile. "I can see that, Peter. I'll speak with the Headmaster at Hendon House tomorrow, and see what I can do about next term."

Peter kissed her on the cheek, wishing he could tell her just how grateful he was. "Thanks mum."

The revised third part will follow soon.

Cheers,

A