Note: The chapter everyone seems to have been waiting for. Also, the longest chapter. Hopefully, it lives up to expectations!

Chapter 30

The Ford of Beruna lay, conveniently enough, near the Telmarine town called Beruna. It was not a large town, at least not compared to Beaversdam; its importance came only from its proximity to the ford. The town and surrounding land had rested in the care of its comtisa, Lady Mareteya, since the death of her considerably older husband several years before.

Though nominally under Sopespian's command, as lord of the lands within which Beruna lay, the Comtisa had managed to remain fairly autonomous in her rule. That is, until Miraz's fist grew tighter around his lords, who in turn further constrained their comdes and comtisas. As taxes grew higher and her people were forced to abandon their fields and shops to build that ridiculous bridge – putting her ferrymen out of business in doing so – Lady Mareteya grew more frustrated and resentful of the Telmarine leadership.

Therefore, when word reached her of the Narnians' victory, Mareteya gathered the town leaders, mounted her house, and rode straight to the battlefield. Not surprisingly, she nearly fainted when she was brought before a giant, talking lion, but she had not survived the trials of her life – married at fourteen to a sixty-five year-old man, widowed at twenty-three, the Great Famine, the deadly flood the spring previous – to be cowed for long. Summoning her courage, the Comtisa looked from the Lion to young Prince…King Caspian and, after swearing loyalty, offered the town and her own manor house for the wounded and prisoners.

Caspian was quick to accept the offer. The new king was rapidly finding himself overwhelmed by the decisions he had to make and, under Edmund and Peter's guidance, was learning the usefulness of delegation. Glozelle, the new Lord of Woodwatch, and General Glenstorm worked with Lady Mareteya to managed relations between townsmen, Telmarine soldiers, and Narnians in order to minimize antagonism among the various parties. Caspian sent Lord Scythley, Lady Prunaprismia's father and the only other lord to hold back his men from the battle, to Beaversdam. The older Telmarine, though he had pledged loyalty to Caspian, was still unsettled being near the Narnians; so, considering the respect he commanded among the Telmarine nobility, it was felt that he was best to take the news of victory to Beaversdam and prepare the way for Caspian's coronation.

A coronation which, in the days after the battle, Susan threw herself into organizing. Along with Lucy and Lady Mareteya, Susan planned and prepared, using her skills and gentle nature to get Narnians and Telmarines working together, and even encouraging them to get excited about the upcoming crowning. The boys mostly stayed out of their way, busy themselves with dealing with the aftermath of battle and upheaval in rule. Only sometimes did their needs combine, such as sending a note to Beaversdam asking Lord Scythley – in a commanding sort of way – to send more royal clothing and the Telmarine crown to Beruna.

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It was the latter item which was holding Caspian and Edmund's attention at the moment, as they stood in one of the manor rooms looking at it.

Edmund tilted his head to the side and squinted at the crown lying on the table in front of him. "It's…nice?"

Standing on the other side of the table, Caspian looked rather put out. "It's big. I thought that was just an exaggeration of my memory. But no, it actually is giant."

"Should fit your head, then," smirked Edmund.

Caspian pulled a face but, as usual, seemed to enjoy being teased, rather than be truly annoyed. "It's also rather…old. And dusty. And gaudy."

Edmund licked his thumb and tried rubbing one of the over-large gems. "Maybe if it's polished a bit…" He winced as the yellow-green jewel just looked more sickly next to the gold.

"I think that just makes it worse," said Caspian morosely. He wasn't vain by any stretch of the imagination, but this crown was a bit much, even for him. The two boys considered the offending object for a few more moments before Caspian spoke again. "I don't suppose I could have it melted down and have the dwarfs make another one."

Edmund was shaking his head before Caspian finished speaking. "Not it you want to be seen as a legitimate king among the Telmarines. According to everything I've read in the manor library, and from what Glozelle and Lady Mareteya have said, every Telmarine king since Caspian the Third was crowned with…that."

Caspian shook his head in frustration. "But I do not wish to be a king like them!"

"Lesson Fourteen." Caspian looked up, waiting for Edmund's newest piece of kingly wisdom. "A crown doesn't make a king, faith and actions do." Edmund gave Caspian a pointed look. "Hate that crown because it's ugly, not because you think it will make you like those who wore it before."

Caspian nodded. Then he sighed. "It really is ugly, isn't it?"

Edmund winced again. "Yes. It is. But you still have to be crowned with it. The Telmarine people won't consider you a legitimate ruler otherwise, and it would cause more trouble than it's worth not to use it."

There was another pause of silence before a light dawned in Caspian's eyes. "But what about after?"

"Well, after the coronation you only would have to wear it on formal occasions…"

"No, no, think about it." Excitement seemed to grow in Caspian's face as the wheels turned in his mind. "I mean, what if after the coronation I don't wear it at all? I could say it is such a valuable piece of history that I dare not wear it in case something happens to it."

Edmund's smile grew as he caught on to the plan. "You could even have a ceremony where you place it somewhere for safekeeping."

"And have a smaller, lighter crown made by the dwarfs."

"A dwarf and a Telmarine smith. And you would have another ceremony to dedicate it as a symbol of unity."

"…I'm going to have to go to a lot of ceremonies as king, aren't I?"

"Officiate usually, and yes." Edmund had lost track of all the ceremonies within two years as king. And he had shared the burden with three siblings.

Caspian shook his head, but even the prospect of countless ceremonies did not darken his excitement. "I don't care, as long as I don't have to wear that."

"Well, if you hide it well enough – wherever you put it for safekeeping – we can reasonably assume that within a few generations it will be lost, or one of your great-grandchildren will melt it down, or something."

Looking startled at the thought of having great-grandchildren, Caspian opened his mouth to speak. The thud of knuckles on wood interrupted him, and both Caspian and Edmund turned towards the sound. Peter stood in the doorframe. "Am I interrupting?"

Edmund shook his head. "Come in, Pete. We were just discussing how to get Caspian out of wearing that more than once."

Peter came forward and looked more closely at the crown. "I can see why."

There wasn't anything that should have triggered Edmund to the fact that Peter was here for something serious. The High King was acting normally, his voice was steady and loose, with a hint of wry humor. Perhaps it was subtle body language that, after over twenty years of experience, had been noted in Edmund's subconscious. Whatever it was, Edmund instinctively knew that Peter wanted to talk to him, alone. Edmund caught Caspian's eye as Peter bent over the crown and poked it tentatively, as if he expected it to bite. Caspian thankfully understood Edmund's look, and the slight jerk of his head, and thought up a quick excuse. "Actually, I should probably speak to Lady Mareteya about finding a Telmarine goldsmith willing to work with dwarfs. If you will excuse me." he made a quick escape, shutting the door behind him.

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Edmund was pretty sure Peter saw right through the attempted subterfuge, but he looked thankful rather than indignant. The two brothers stood there, Peter looking at the crown and Edmund looking at Peter. Finally, Edmund broke the silence. "So…how's your shoulder?"

Peter looked up, automatically rolling his shoulder as he did so. He only winced a little bit. "It's better."

"And your foot?"

Peter blinked. "How did…what about my foot?"

Edmund rolled his eyes and gently toed at Peter's right boot. As Peter hissed and hopped back, the younger boy shook his head. "That about your foot. You were practically hobbling when you came into the room." He was surprised Caspian had not noticed, actually; but then, maybe he should just be glad that Caspian was no longer jumping whenever Peter entered the room and vice versa. Now, though, Peter was just looking sheepish at being caught.

"I think it might be, um, bruised."

Blue eyes looked pitifully at him and Edmund sighed. "All right, sit down; I'll take a look."

Peter glanced around the small room. It was mostly cluttered with items that had been hurriedly moved there in order to make space in the manor for the wounded. However, as chairs were fairly necessary when dealing with large groups, there were not any in this particular storage area. "Er…"

"Floor. Sit." Peter really had no choice but to find a clear area of rug – which was actually remarkably fluffy – and gingerly sat so as not to aggravate his shoulder or his foot. Edmund plopped down in front of his brother and gently worked to remove the boot. After some grimacings and apologies, it was soon off, followed by the sock.

The top of Peter's foot was red and slightly swollen, the skin only just beginning to darken. Edmund examined it carefully, but it didn't look like anything had been broken or crushed. Satisfied that it was just a bruise, Edmund sat back and let Peter put his sock back on. "So, what happened?"

Peter began working on maneuvering his boot on while minimizing his discomfort. "I…ran into a group of kids playing tag on the way here." His wince was more from Edmund's smirk than the pain in his foot.

"Tag? Really?"

"One of them was a centaur." That tempered the smirk. Edmund had himself dealt with centaur children who had not yet learned the grace and agility of their parents. Peter's face grew pensive. "You know what, though? That group of kids…there were Telmarines as well as Narnians in it."

Edmund smiled and leaned back against some sort of old, ugly end table. "That's usually how it starts." Memories came to him of young Fauns laughing and chasing their Wolf-pup friends down the halls of Cair Paravel, while their parents could barely stand in the same room together.

Peter wrapped his arms around his left knee, fidgeting to try and find a comfortable position to sit in. "It's good to see."

"It is. But it's not what you came to talk about." That much was clear. Edmund could usually tell when Peter was skirting around an issue.

"No." And now Peter was looking uncomfortable, his eyes not quite meeting Edmund's. The older boy's hold on his knee tightened. "It's after, Ed."

Edmund didn't have to ask what he meant. Frankly, he was surprised it had taken Peter this long to seek him out to finish their promised talk. However, the chaos of the days following the Second Battle of Beruna, as it was being called, did not allow for much time to speak privately. Things were only just beginning to settle. "I don't suppose that winning the war means that you don't have to retroactively give me your 'if we die today' speech?"

It didn't, apparently, as Peter decided to just ignore him and barrel on with what he had to say. "I've already apologized to the girls and Caspian, but I never…I never got a chance to tell you how incredibly sorry I am for what I've done and how I acted, or to ask for your forgiveness."

"Of cour…"

"Ed, please!' Edmund reluctantly shut his mouth and let Peter continue. It was hard, especially since the older boy looked nearly as miserable as he had before speaking with Aslan. "I've not acted much like a High King this past year, or even like a brother, and I left you to struggle with both our responsibilities. You were having to deal with the same situation I was, but I did nothing to help you – more like made things harder for you – and I did nothing to help the girls either, which meant you had to help both of them, alone, while at the same time trying to help me. It wasn't fair to pile all that on you."

"But that's my duty as king and brother: to pick up the slack when you're overwhelmed by it all."

Peter shook his head. "Help, yes. Not do the work of two people. I should have listened to you, not acted like a child." For all that Peter had considered himself an adult trapped in the body of a boy, looking back he could see that he had acted more like a child pretending to be grown up. "And I just got worse in Narnia, with how I treated you and Caspian. My words and actions were unconscionable."

"Bringing out the big words now?" joked Edmund, trying to insert some sort of levity into the increasingly uncomfortable situation.

Peter just gave him a look. "I guess I don't have to list all the bad decisions I made, considering. But I have to specifically apologize for two things: for one, the raid on Beaversdam castle."

Edmund stiffened at the mention of that battle. Though he wouldn't admit it, especially to Peter, he was still having nightmares about the massacre of his soldiers. "I made as many mistakes."

"No." Edmund quickly snapped his mouth shut at Peter's fierce interruption. The anger in the older boy's eyes matched that of Susan's when he had previously tried to admit his failures. "Edmund, the fault for what happened there lies entirely on me and my pride. Whatever other mistakes were made, they would have mattered little if I had actually listened to you and ordered a retreat." Edmund hated hearing it, hated seeing the toil that guilt had taken on Peter. He hated even more that he knew it was true. "And…and I also have to apologize for what happened with the White Witch."

Edmund bit his lip at the memory. "She was enchanting you. It wasn't my place to judge you for that, and I'm sorry for what I said afterwards."

"You had every right to be furious with me, Ed. I should have known better than to try and attack her directly; it certainly hadn't worked before. Not to mention I should have realized you were injured, shouldn't have let you fight that werewolf on your own. I've been a terrible leader, and a terrible brother, and I really don't deserve to even ask your forgiveness." Peter rested his chin on his knee, looking miserably at the floor.

Edmund huffed and lightly kicked Peter's leg, forcing him to look up. "Forgiveness isn't about what you deserve." He knew that better than most. "Aslan forgives you, Peter. And so do I." He really did, too. Edmund could see clearly that Peter was sincere in his repentance; and he could no more withhold sincerely desired forgiveness than stop his own heart from beating. Whatever problems he still had with trusting in Peter's continued penitent actions, Edmund would always grant him forgiveness when it was earnestly sought.

Peter's relief was visible as his body relaxed and a real smile stole across his face. "Thanks, Ed."

Smiling, Edmund shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone deserves a second chance." What happened next surprised him. Considering that the emphasis on second chances had always been an important part of Edmund's life, it startled him to see how quickly the words caused Peter's countenance to cloud over, as if they brought back a terrible memory. "Peter? What's wrong?"

Peter shook the clouds away and tried to smile again. "Nothing."

"That wasn't 'nothing'."

Peter hesitated before giving in, knowing by the look in Edmund's eye that he wouldn't let this go. "It's just…I hate thinking about…about how close I came to losing you."

While not quite following Peter's leap in logic, Edmund was more concerned with understanding his meaning. "That's the second time I heard you talk about losing me, and I don't get it. I mean, I can understand there were some points you might have been worried about my safety…"

"Might have been worried about your safety?" Peter's face was incredulous as he sat up straighter. "Edmund, you could have been killed! Three times, not counting the final battle!"

Edmund frowned. If they weren't counting that, than what…?" It hit him and his frown deepened. "I was never in much danger during those early skirmishes, despite what Caspian might say. There wasn't even much danger infiltrating the Beaversdam castle. I wasn't doing much active sabotage, or placing myself in extended contact with the more ruthless Telmarines. Besides," he tried to keep his smile from looking false at the memory of times long past, "Miraz wasn't exactly paying off members of our court to learn about what I was doing."

His argument didn't seem to be persuading Peter, so he moved on. "Getting injured during the raid was my own fault; I wasn't paying good enough attention to my surroundings. And it really wasn't a particularly bad wound, which was why I didn't mention it, and I did get it stitched and bandaged." Was he rambling? He usually didn't ramble so much, but Peter had such a look on his face that was distressing just to see, and Edmund really wanted to make it stop. But it didn't seem to be working. "I probably shouldn't have fought the werewolf, but I don't think the hag would have been much better. And I should have gone back to the healer afterwards instead of wandering off, but really, I don't think it was as bad as you all seem to make it out to be. Honestly, the whole passing out thing probably had more to do with not having eaten in awhile than blood loss…"

Edmund's words trailed off. Something wasn't right here. Yes, Peter might be upset about those close calls, but there was something more. Edmund could see it in the way Peter was reacting to his words: his eyes weren't quite meeting Edmund's, his left forefinger was softly tapping on his leg, and he seemed to be grinding his teeth slightly. All sure signs that Peter's thoughts were not entirely on what Edmund was saying. Which meant… "That's not what you were talking about, though, was it?" There, a shift in his gaze and an entirely too innocent look. "When you said you came close to losing me. You didn't mean just the times I might have been somewhat close to being killed." The older boy's thin, pursed lips told him he was close. "Peter, tell…"

"I let go of your hand." Edmund stared as Peter blurted out the truth. That…wasn't what he was expecting. Peter saw his confusion and explained, hesitantly. "At the station. Susan told us to hold hands, but I let yours go."

Edmund's brow furrowed. "But I told you I didn't want to hold your hand."

"That's the point!" Edmund nearly banged his head against the end table as he started at Peter's loud, angry exclamation. "A year ago, a few months ago, you wouldn't have hesitated! But I pushed you away; I pushed and I yelled and I ignored you and I hurt you, until you stopped trying and I let you go!" The fierceness in Peter's voice was offset by the fact that he had pulled both knees to his chest, using them as some kind of emotional shield. "But then, in Narnia, I had the chance to make things right, tell you I loved and needed you, but I still pushed you away, and Caspian was there and you were supporting him like you used to with me and I…"

He was cut off when Edmund leapt to his feet, eyes blazing like dark embers as realization hit. "Peter Gabriel Pevensie!" It was never a good thing when the middle name was brought out. "I can't believe you could think…Peter, you thought I was replacing you?"

Not liking having an irate brother towering over him, Peter stood, ignoring the pain in his foot. "I was so awful to you and, and Caspian was already acting like your brother and …"

Peter was silenced again as Edmund stepped further into his personal space, glare still menacing despite being half a head below his own. "And? What? It's either or? You're saying I can't love Lucy because I already have Susan as a sister?"

"No, but…"

"And you can't be my brother because you were mean?" Peter actually took a tiny step backwards at the wrath in Edmund's voice. "By the Lion, Peter! If acting like a brat for one year out of twenty-nine means you can't be a brother anymore, than I apparently haven't been your brother since I was ten the first time!"

Peter's eyes widened. "No! That wasn't what I meant!"

Edmund was having none of his backtracking; because, Aslan, this hurt. "What did you mean then? Because the way I see it, either I wasn't your brother any longer after I was so horrible to you and sold you out to the White Witch. Or you think so little of me that you believe I would betray you by throwing you out for a new brother because you were being inconvenient. Which is it Peter?" There was a near-hysterical tone to his voice, he knew, and it wasn't rational. Well, perhaps a little logical, considering Edmund could feel his soul breaking, terrified that either situation was the truth. Did Peter really think so little of him? Had he always felt that way? Edmund just didn't know anymore; he used to think that Peter had gotten over his betrayal, knew he would never the same again, but he had also thought that Peter would always be Peter, High King and magnificent. If the latter could change, if Peter could break the oaths he had sworn as High King, how much could Edmund trust that the former was true?

Peter's face had gone white as Edmund spoke, until now he looked about ready to topple over. In fact, his ability to stay upright seemed so precarious that Edmund automatically reached out, as if to grab his older brother to steady him. Though Edmund stopped mid-reach, the unconscious gesture of support seemed to give Peter strength. As Edmund began pulling back, Peter himself reached out and grabbed his little brother's arms. "Ed…" It came out as a dismal croak, and Peter shook his head to try and clear the lump in his throat. "Lion's Mane, Ed, what have I done to you?"

The anguish in Peter's voice, the horror in his eyes, drew Edmund from the brink of hysteria. "Peter?" There was an uncharacteristic lack of control as Edmund let a chord of pathetic hope slip into his voice and demeanor. While he usually hid intense feelings behind a mask of anger or sarcastic humor, he just couldn't anymore. He had been wrenched so many ways emotionally the past year, and particularly in recent weeks, that his self-control had to give sometime. This conversation had just been the last thread. Now his face was an open book. And Peter was reading every word; indeed, he could see exactly what he had done to Edmund. What he was doing.

"I…" Peter's mouth seemed to have forgotten how to work at such a display. Yet, to Edmund's surprise, confusion, and utter relief, the lack of words did not seem to be a confirmation of his fears. Not with the guilt and sorrow in Peter's grey-blue eyes.

Without warning, Peter used his grip on Edmund to clumsily tug the younger boy into a fierce embrace. Stunned, Edmund did not even react, but this only made Peter tighten his hold. When Peter finally managed to speak his words were soft but firm, full of regret and resigned guilt. "Brother mine, that you could even conceive of such ideas shows how far I have fallen." When Edmund didn't respond, Peter's shoulders slumped and he buried his face in one of the arms he kept wound around his brother's neck. "Aslan, how do I fix this?" he whispered, muffled so that he could barely be heard.

Edmund did hear, though. He heard Peter's desolate prayer and, sucking in a breath, Edmund realized that Peter was right. Had the older boy confessed to such a fear in years past, fear of being replaced, Edmund would have rolled his eyes, punched Peter in the shoulder, and told him he was being a complete idiot. It would never have crossed Edmund's mind to think otherwise, never have occurred to him to take such a confession so seriously to heart. Only now, Edmund's trust in Peter had been so shaken…

It doesn't have to be, he thought. Peter was trying to make amends. The old Peter, the real Peter. Aslan, please. Give me faith to trust him again.

Slowly, hesitantly, Edmund brought his arms up and wrapped them about his brother's chest. Peter nearly jumped in surprise, but then tightened his grip so much that Edmund's ribs ached. Feeling the fierce relief in Peter's body, Edmund knew he had made the right decision. It might destroy him if Peter shattered that trust again, but Edmund had to take that chance. For Peter's sake.

After a moment, Peter loosened his grip and pulled back slightly to look Edmund in the eye. The older boy's face was a picture of intense resolve. "Brother, by Aslan's grace, I swear to never again abandon you who are dearest to my heart. May darkness take me if I should fail to uphold my word." It was a most solemn oath to swear by Aslan's grace – particularly to Edmund, who knew that grace so fully.

The younger king breathed deeply and, this time, it was Edmund who pulled Peter into an embrace. "Brother, may your oath never be broken. But, should it happen, let darkness spare you and take me instead." After all, he would already be lost should Peter break this promise.

"Never," insisted Peter, and Edmund was not sure if he were vowing again to keep his oath, or forswearing Edmund's desire to save him from the consequence of oathbreaking. In all likelihood, it was both. And Edmund felt hope rise just hearing Peter's vow and his determination to protect his brother – both by keeping the oath and not allowing Edmund to take the fall for him. Usually Edmund hated Peter's insistence on keeping the younger boy out of danger's snare. Now it was a reassurance of Peter's return, and of Aslan's grace.

It was a promise for a better future.

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Only three more chapters!