Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it except this story, none of the characters are mine they all belong to C.S. Lewis.
A/N: Yay! Finally I get to write Edmund! Um, there are bits in here which were supposed to break up the mild angst and hopefully be a little funny but I don't know if that comes through? And I'm sorry if my bias towards Ed shows but it is a very strong bias, I am actually starting to hate Peter because of how I have been writing him and even though I wrote it, Peter's mood swings are mind-boggling to me too :-s Um, this one's possibly a bit more angsty than the others but I'm not sure why. Please feel free to leave criticisms or whatever feedback you feel like giving but you don't have to. Also, a biscuit would be nice! :)
"Edmund."
The silence that followed Edmund's emergence from the tent was deafening to Peter. Even from the short distance he was away from his brother, he could see the confused mix of emotions in the dark eyes; he saw the shocked hurt, the confused anger and even he suspected, fear. Fear of what? Him? He told himself the ridiculousness of the situation wherein he was concerned over Edmund, who had betrayed him and whom just a moment ago he was raging about, ready to tear him apart. It was Edmund who finally broke the eye contact, he didn't shout or storm as he would have done only a day or two earlier, but turned slowly and trudged resignedly back into the tent. Peter watched him go until the heavy canvas doors fell across the entrance again, obscuring Edmund from view. Then he dragged his eyes away and turned to Susan whose earlier anger paled in comparison to the furious exasperation on her face now. Peter was forcibly reminded of a time which seemed so long ago now, back in the professor's house in England when he and Edmund had had what was actually one of their more docile fights. He could almost hear Susan's angry"Well, that was nicely handled.".
"Well, tha..."
"Oh, be quiet Su." Peter interrupted before she could finish, the Susan in his head finishing the line for her. There was a tense silence that followed, Lucy's sniffling the only noise. Peter staring determinedly at the grass at his feet and Susan opening and closing her mouth furiously for a few moments.
At length, Peter glanced up and ventured pathetically: "Su? I'm sorry I said that. And...and all that stuff about Edmund."
She suddenly lifted her gaze to his, and pushed roughly past Peter, snarling angrily over her shoulder: "So am I!"
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Edmund stood quickly as he heard rapid, angry footsteps coming towards the tent. Straightening his back as best he could, he stood ready to listen to whatever Peter chose to throw at him next. He was therefore surprised, when the feet stopped just outside the tent and he heard Susan let out a long, shuddering sigh before lifting the flaps and entering into the dark tent.
"Hello Edmund." She said, offering him a small somewhat shaky smile.
" 'Lo Su." He suddenly found himself unable to hold her gaze and dropped his face to stare at his feet. She walked past him slowly and gently lowered herself to sit on one of the hammocks that had been set up in the canvas room. She reached out gently and tugged one of his hands slightly, he followed her lead and sat nervously next to her, still clutching her right hand in his left. They sat in awkward silence, Susan staring blankly into space and Edmund watching their interlaced fingers, seemingly fascinated. Edmund finally broke the silence, quietly he said "He'll never forgive me, will he?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"..." Susan did not answer. In truth she had no idea how to answer him, she wasn't even sure what she thought the answer was. Edmund finally gave up waiting and nervously raised his eyes from their hands to her face. Her stricken, frightened expression did nothing to inspire his confidence and he quickly dropped his gaze again.
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Shadows passed by the tent, muttering about their new kings and queens as they went by. It seemed news or rather gossip, traveled fast in Narnia. Several times, either Susan or Edmund would turn towards the entrance and see a tall, human silhouette there, it's hand poised as if to push through the canvas flaps. But then, it would lose it's nerve or simply decide against entering and turn and walk away. Each time this happened, Susan would feel her brother's hand begin to tremble ever so slightly and would grip it just that little bit tighter. Once, Edmund raised his right thumb to his mouth and began to bite anxiously on the nail. Susan, without taking her gaze off the far corner of the tent, reached across both their bodies with her left hand and pulled it away again saying vaguely "Don't chew your nails Ed.".
Edmund found himself smiling fondly, "Why? Because my fingers will drop off if I do?" His sister's mouth quirked up at the edges a little and his smile widened a little more, surprised but glad that he finally seemed to be doing something right. He was disappointed when Susan's face turned melancholy once more.
"I miss Mum." She admitted softly.
Edmund felt his heart lurch, what would their mother think of him now? He couldn't bear the thought of her, the last time he had seen her he had turned away from her, he had watched her heart break in her eyes as she sent them away but he hadn't cared. Peter had been right, back in London; he was selfish. And he didn't deserve for Peter or the girls to forgive him, he was a traitor and they almost died because of him. He felt the overwhelming guilt that he had felt in the 'Queen's' castle wash over him; he didn't deserve this, this time with Susan or the forgiveness that both she and Lucy had given him so easily and suddenly he was glad that Peter couldn't forgive him. He was glad but that didn't stop the feelings of sadness or helplessness that was threatening to overwhelm him. His breathing started coming in short hitches and he felt tears cloud his vision, he tried to pull his hand away from Susan's.
"Edmund, look at me." Her hand was still gripping his tightly, and he shook his head jerkily.
"No." The movement had caused a few tears to drip down his face, some of them seeped into the shallow cuts on his lips and face, the salty water stinging the wounds.
"Edmund." Susan reached out and caught his chin in her fingers, gently. The touch reminded him of the Witch's soft caress when he had first met her, how cold her fingers had been, they had felt like death itself and he been too blind to notice. He felt sick. "Ed?" Susan's soft call and warm fingers brought him back to the present and he just had to chance a look at her face.
Seeing Edmund's dark brown eyes glance up at her with such startling fragility and fear made Susan's heart break. She carefully curled one arm around his shoulders and, keeping the other hand lightly on his cheek, pulled him closer until his head rested on her shoulder. He hesitantly turned his head in towards her until his now wet and bloody face was buried in her neck. Susan began to make shushing noises even though he was already silent except for the occasional sniff, stroking his dark hair and occasionally pressing kisses to the top of his head.
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Susan's thoughts drifted to Peter, she wondered where he was, what he was doing. She began to replay this afternoon's little show in her mind's eye: she saw Peter trying to force himself into forgiving Edmund, herself trying to force Peter into forgiving Edmund, and she saw Lucy assuming Peter already had forgiven Edmund. Given what Edmund had done, Peter's inability to forgive him was understandable as was his wishing he could forgive him. She wished ruefully that she had just told Peter from the beginning what had happened to Edmund, if nothing else, it would have poured water on Peter's fire for a while. Instead, she had refused to tell him, and if anything had been bound to pour oil on Peter's fire it was telling him that something had happened to their little brother but refusing to tell him what, Peter tended to have an over-active imagination when it came to things like that.
She realised belatedly, that Edmund's quiet but frantic sobbing had at some point changed to shuddering breaths and loud sniffing. She glanced down at him to find him chewing absent-mindedly on his thumbnail again, she couldn't help smiling; it was the one way you could always tell if Edmund had a) was scared because he had done something naughty, b) was scared because he was about to do something naughty, or c) was just generally scared. She opened her mouth to speak but Edmund beat her to it, speaking hesitantly from his exhausted daze and his voice rough from crying.
"It...must be hard for him. And I do understand, at least, I think I do." He frowned slightly, dark eyebrows knitting together. Susan wasn't sure who he was talking about but was sure she could guess. "I mean, what...what I did; it wasn't exactly a small thing, was it?"
"No, it wasn't." She answered quietly, causing a few last tears to trickle down Edmund's face.
"And, I understand if he can't forgive me - if you can't forgive me." He paused, and craned his neck around so that he could just about see her face and said quietly but less dazedly "I do understand it, Susan. And I do understand him, what must be going on in his mind."
Susan was pleased that Edmund understood their brother, because she had just tried putting herself in Peter's shoes, tried to imagine how torn he was between his love for their brother and his hurt and anger at him for what he had done. She felt as though her mind was about to explode just thinking about it, as a matter of fact, she felt quite proud of Peter for being so restrained in his ranting. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud yawn from Edmund, again she looked down at him. His eyes were glazed over with exhaustion and he was already falling asleep; so she gently extracted herself from around him and lifted his legs up onto the bed. He murmured something in his half-dream state but she did not catch it, snagging a thin blanket from Peter's bed (there was no need for the thick woolly ones any more) she spread it over Edmund's quickly fading form. He yawned widely again, the stretch causing the cuts around his lips and mouth to split and bleed weakly but he did not seem to notice. She took hold of one of his hands again and knelt by the bed watching him, he closed his eyes properly now and was soon breathing deeply. Once Edmund was asleep (or well on his way), Susan stood slowly and resolved to go and find Peter and 'talk'. Taking one last look at her brother's still form, she delicately slid her hand out of his and turned towards the door but just as she reached it she heard a small whimpering cry saying:
"Susan? Will you stay?" Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt tears actually sting her eyes. She had not heard her brother sound so young or frightened since he was about five years old, stumbling into her room at one o'clock in the morning, terrified of the things that went bump in the night. Of course then it had been "Susan? Can I stay?". But the effect it had on her was the same. She turned around to see Edmund's pale face and dark eyes peering anxiously at her over his shoulder. She smiled, Peter could wait she decided and drifted slowly back to the bed. She felt delighted if somewhat guiltily when Edmund reached out his hand to grab hers as soon as she was nearly within arm's reach again.
"Close your eyes Ed." Susan ordered softly, and after staring a moment longer he did. She lifted her free hand and started stroking his hair again, when he showed no sign of drifting off this time (he rarely did so during the times in her room in England when they were little either), she began singing a song quietly under her breath. It was one that their mother had danced with their father to on the night before he left London, one they both categorically swore was written about them. Their mother had played that same song every night for a fortnight after their father had left, crying into the dishes in the kitchen and Edmund, Susan and Peter all used to sneak down onto the stairs and listen until it had finished. Susan had forgotten some of the words but Edmund didn't seem to mind, he was already fast asleep before she finished the first verse.
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He approached the tent cautiously, this was about the fifteenth time this evening that he had almost entered the tent but found that he had no idea what to say to either of it's two occupants and ended up walking away. Well, not this time, he was going into that tent. He was. As he reached the tent however, he heard a soft, lilting voice coming from within
"I may be right, I may be wrong.
But I'm perfectly willing to swear
there were angels dancing...da da da da...and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square..."
He sighed quietly and lowered himself to the grassy ground. Leaning back against a nearby boulder, Peter decided that having it out with Edmund could wait. For now, he was content to listen to a lullaby.
A/N: So there's chapter 3. Hopefully not too OOC. Oh yeah and for anyone who is interested, the song in it is 'A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square' it came out in 1940 but I'm not sure who wrote it, it's a beautiful song though so check it out if you like. xx