Edmund almost decided to escape with Peter and Lucy, smelled Susan's sweat and rancor from the doorway, crushed one of his puzzle pieces between thumb and forefinger in anticipation of drama. For that was the proper name for all of this, without a doubt. Drama. Nonsense. Silliness. Ed could bring to mind dozens of synonyms to describe the ridiculousness (there was another one) of the entire situation.

There was a rebel space in the back his mind that envisioned getting out of the chair, walking out the front door with his siblings, pretending for an afternoon that everything was settled, peaceful. It would be nice.

However, there was no logical outcome for such an action, so Edmund didn't do it. He concentrated on his puzzle.

"Ed…" It had been quiet for so long, he had forgotten she was still there. He glanced over briefly at her unwashed face, shiny and melancholy in the weak sunlight, and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, Su?" That had come out too forgiving. He was still angry.

"I," Susan paused, mouth open, "I…never mind."

Perhaps she sensed his hidden ire. Edmund felt a pang of sympathy, but not enough to make him press her. He rolled his eyes, looked away.

Talk to her.

"What," he said aloud, jumping in his seat. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

"What," Susan repeated, but she hadn't heard the voice, only seen his reaction.

He closed his eyes, waited for the words to come again. His heart was suddenly pounding, pushing at the barrier of his ribcage. Edmund pressed a palm to his forehead.

"Ed, what's wrong?" Susan rustled, rested a clammy hand on his upper back. "Are you ill?"

Talk to her, Edmund.

There could be no doubt of it. Edmund chuckled, filled with a strange, awkward relief. He knew that voice.

"Ed." She was getting impatient now.

"Sorry." He lifted her hand off his neck, squeezed it. "Just a sudden headache." If he spoke frankly, doubtless she would laugh at him. Susan didn't believe in Narnia anymore.

"Anything I can do?" Susan withdrew her hand, eased herself off the bed.

He needed to be alone. "I'm a bit thirsty."

"I'll fetch some tea for you." Susan scurried out the door, unnerved. Unknown to Edmund, she had also perceived a familiar presence. The hairs on her arms tingled nervously. Best to run.

"I'm telling the truth," Edmund exclaimed with no small amount of exasperation, throwing a pillow at the silhouette standing before their shared dresser. Peter caught the projectile smoothly with one hand, continued buttoning his nightshirt with the other. "You just don't want to believe me."

"Ed," Peter groaned (they'd been through this twice already), "I don't want to talk about it right now, alright? I want to sleep." He threw the pillow back.

Ed seized it cleanly, tucked it behind his neck. "Ignoring the problem won't make it go away, Peter. We've been given a direct order."

"You have," Peter groused, sliding into bed, "And besides; how can you be certain that it was Aslan you heard?"

"Well, who else could it have been?"

"...Maybe it was just your conscience."

"Either way," Ed ventured cautiously, sensing the disquiet seething beneath Peter's denial, "Shouldn't I listen?"

"I think," Peter yawned, drawing the sheets over his head, "That you need some rest."

"You really don't believe me." Ed stared at the shifting lump with a dark frown.

"Ed…"

"Fine. Fine. Tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Ed."

"Night, Peter."

"Well, I believe you," Lucy proclaimed graciously, stretching on tiptoe to secure a wet blanket to their clothesline. "Peter's just being stubborn. You know how he gets."

Ed passed her a clip, "Hmmm. Terrible timing though."

"Hmmm," Lucy agreed, stepping back. The blanket surged in a gust of air, sprinkling their bare feet with cool droplets. "I think you 'should' talk to Susan, really. After all," she patted his hand moistly, "You understand what it's like to be in a muddle."

No shame rose up within him as she said this. It was a good day. "Yes."

He wanted to discuss it further, but Mum was weeding the garden not three yards away, and might overhear their Narnia talk. It could wait.

"Lucy," Dad called, blond head peeking around the doorframe, "Could you help your sister with supper? We'll be eating at midnight, the rate she's going."

Lucy nudged Edmund in the ribs, hard. "Here's your chance."

Ed approached the house, forcing a smile (nothing was quite the same with Dad, since Christmas). "I'll do it."

Dad clapped Ed's shoulder with a laugh, shaking his head. "What are you talking about, lad? That's women's work in there."

Ed quavered beneath the impenetrable gaze. "I know, Dad. But…"

"Lucy can assist Susan well enough. Peter's fixing the porch steps, you go help him with that."

Edmund studied his father closely, gauging if he could push him. No. Not today. The blue eyes were bloodshot and shifty.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good man. Off you go."

There was nothing to do but obey. The talk would have to wait, it seemed.

Sorry, Aslan.