Chapter Four

Carefully crossing one leg over the other, Edmund settled back against the sturdy tree trunk and lowered the book he had clutched between his fingers onto his lap. He crossed is arms over his chest.

"Come on, Lucy," he grumbled under his breath. Even with Professor Kirke's property as big as it was, it never really took anyone that long to find him. Not that he didn't try to hide. Hide and Seek wasn't his favorite game to play, but he did appease Lucy by joining in. Besides, he wasn't that far away from home base.

He didn't exactly what to be interrupted – what better time to get started on the book Professor Kirke had given him? – but she was taking too long!

Books had always been a sort of escape for him. After a day at school, and an unwanted bubble bath, he'd find himself curled up in his father's lap - in his office or by the fire - and read with him. Whether his father read from one of his Sherlock Holmes books, or one of the books Edmund had received as a holiday gift, Edmund enjoyed hearing his father's deep, rich voice, immersing them both into the world in the pages.

Birds tittered and chirped their songs before taking flight to their next destination. In the distance, he could hear the familiar clip-clop of horse hooves, creak of wagon wheels, and the thwack of a whip as Mrs. Macready took the horse-drawn cart out to survey the property or take another trip into town. It was the distant sound of a train horn that pulled Edmund's attention from the pages of his book. And his growing impatience.

It wasn't that long ago that the same horn blasted through the station, cutting over the sound of all the children screaming and crying and bidding their mothers goodbye before embarking on the destination written upon the labels hanging off their clothing. He could remember the crush of people around him, jostling for a good position at the windows and doors, desperately reaching for just one more touch of their mother's soft skin. To witness just one more reassuring smile.

He could remember the smell of the smoke coming from the train as it billowed from the chimney, surrounding the families and the soldiers that attempted to keep order. He could remember the feel of the train lurching as it pulled away from each station, the train cars emptying more and more until, finally, the Pevensies were at their destination. And with one more, loud blast, the train left them behind.

At that very same station, they would wait for the train to take them into the city, and on their way to school.

Lu, would you hurry up? Edmund thought, thumping the back of his head against the bark. Maybe he should be happy that she seemed to be taking her time. Maybe if they never found him, he wouldn't have to go back to school.

"Lu-cy!" he called.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Lucy's voice reached his ears. Not too far off, but not too close, either.

"Ed, shush!" Peter's admonishment came from somewhere to his left.

He turned his head, looking to see if he could pinpoint where, exactly, his brother was hiding. Bushes. Tress. Thickets. They all gently bowed and swayed with the breeze that pushed past. But nothing gave him away.

"She's taking too long," Edmund groaned.

"Shush!"

Rolling his eyes, Edmund uncrossed his arms and carefully reached up an arm for the branch above his head. Gripping it tightly, the rough bark biting into the palms of his hands, hands once calloused and etched with scars from battles fought, he eased himself into a stand on the branch he had just been sitting on. Stretching himself to his full height, he carefully tucked his book into the waistband of his pants. Then with deft ease, he climbed down the tree and jumped down to the soft ground. Brushing his hands on the seat of his pants, he merely looked over at Lucy as she crashed her way towards him.

"Edmund," Lucy said, planting her hands on her hips. Much like that of their mother. Almost scarily so. All she needed now was a wagging finger. "You're supposed to hide. That's the whole point of the game."

"You were taking too long," Edmund said. "I was starting to think we'd have to start looking for you. Waiting for you was getting boring."

"If you didn't want to play, you could have just said so," Lucy said with a deep frown. She turned on her heels, her curtain of red hair fanning out behind her, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

Lucy didn't whine (as much) anymore or go running off to Peter (as much) with the declaration that Edmund was being mean, but he would've preferred that over her proverbial pout. As over-exaggerated as it was in this moment. Lucy had grown up over the months, but the one thing that never changed was her ability to let her emotions be known. It was just different now. A strength to her that had never been seen before. One that Edmund was still getting used to seeing.

"Ed," Peter said, stepping over to them, twigs snapping beneath his shoes. Susan followed behind him, picking at the pine needles that stuck to her skirt. She gazed curiously upon her brothers and sister. "Come on."

"What?" Edmund lifted an eyebrow, his voice lifting in pitch in defense. "She was taking a long time."

"That was barely ten minutes," Peter said evenly, "fifteen tops."

"Well, it felt like a long time."

Susan made a humming sound in the back of her throat. "You know how big this place is," she said, now reaching up to brush the forest out of her hair. "There's a lot of places to hide. It takes time."

I thought that's why we had boundaries. Edmund pursed his lips slightly. They had learned the hard way that a smaller play area was best for them. The house had too many closets and stairs, so if they were playing inside, they could only stay inside as long as they stayed out of the way of the housekeepers.

If they played outside, they could only be outside; the gardens, the barn, and the forest were fair game as long as they didn't go too far. And one too many times Lucy was found tucked in the back of the wardrobe when she was supposed to be looking for everyone else. Professor Kirke's land was too expansive and they didn't want to have to face Mrs. Macready's ire if she had to call for them too many times to come in for tea.

"Ten long minutes," Edmund mumbled. Lucy made a face at him over her shoulder, and he made one back.

"Ed!" Edmund rolled his eyes away from Peter, but still caught the side of Lucy's mouth pull upwards into a smile.

"Lucy just wants to spend some time with us," Susan said in her hushed, weary tone. The same way their mother would speak to him when she asked him repeatedly to sweep the floors. It drove him crazy. First Peter acting like their father, and now Susan? "Before we all go back to school."

Edmund pushed a sigh out through his nose. We always spend time together, he wanted to point out. Who else did they have to spend time with at this house? Or rather, who else did he have time to spend with? Peter was spending more time with Professor Kirke, and Susan spoke more with Mrs. Macready. Even Lucy could be found looking for Ivy, Betty, or Margaret – mostly just to taste test whatever they were baking, but searching to see if there was an extra treat or two along with the usual collection from the markets. Some fresh fruit. Some chocolates. Even better, a little extra milk or juice. Water for breakfast, lunch, and dinner got boring real fast.

He could still see Susan's point.

They would be traveling together, sure, but they attended two different boarding schools. They didn't see each other often during the week. Occasionally, combined classes were held together at the two schools. But they really only saw each other on weekends. It was no wonder Lucy, despite shades of her growing maturity, was also clinging to childish things as much as possible. She had even started sleeping with her stuffed bear again. She hadn't fully given it up; Edmund earned himself a decent punch or two from her after he revealed he jokingly hid it from her. But it didn't spend so many nights in bed with her anymore. Not for a while.

Edmund threw his hands into the air before placing them over his eyes, starting to count again. The sound of Lucy's gasp of delight and declaration that no one would be able to find her this time, pulled a smile to his face. A sad one, but a smile, nonetheless. He was glad she could still find some simple pleasures in their situation. At least one of them could still do that.

Despite being displaced. Despite being separated from their parents. Their friends. They didn't really have friends at school. Not like in Finchley.

Blinking behind his hands, his counting faltering for a moment. Friends he couldn't even remember the names of, he suddenly realized. Friends that, one by one, had stopped coming to school. Some would leave with their parents for their safety, some got word of a death in the family and would be pulled out, some, like him, were sent away. Friends that understood his anger at his father having to leave the country in the first place.

Now, he didn't even want to leave this place. Not for school, anyway. If he looked at all the land on the Professors' property in a certain way – with a head tilt here, and a squint there – he felt like he was back…to a place he couldn't always picture anymore. It wasn't exact, but it did bring an idea of the feeling of comfort. It was hard to explain. This wasn't his home. After all, if the war wasn't going on, he wouldn't be there. But it was the land he was living on, and the house he was living in. And he was with family. And the Professor, and Mrs. Macready, and Betty and Ivy and Margaret were less like strangers to him now.

But to go to yet another place that told him what he could and couldn't do, and what he could and couldn't study? No thanks. Equations and the degrees of shapes in maths didn't interest him. Practicing his handwriting and to learn what was expected of him as a man didn't interest him. History, though, was pretty interesting. Learning about the battles of the past and the different steps both sides took to their advantage or disadvantage always held his attention.

What would he have done differently? Would it have had any great affect? How could he have put some of that teaching to what he had experienced? It was the subject of his drawings whether he had set out to draw battles or strange creatures. Or lions. Or a tall woman dressed in all white…

It just came out that way.

"Oh, Edmund, what a creative mind you have," his teacher would comment with a shake of the head, and a concerning click of the tongue. "You'd best put all this effort into your assignments. Your marks would improve greatly. Peter is doing very well here, and I know you could, too."

In truth, Edmund knew he wasn't anything like Peter. Didn't anyone understand that he wasn't ever going to be? He didn't have the grades. He didn't have the temperament as everyone pointed out to him. He did his best, of course. But what was the point?

Peter wasn't the type to easily be swayed by empty promises. Or by the idea of power. That was something only Edmund could do. And all for some attention and a few sweets. No, Peter treated everyone the same. Only taking charge when he needed to. Or, as situations out of their control deemed, when it was expected of him.

And he did it well. "He was "Magnificent" for sure. There was no way Edmund could live up to a title like that. No matter where he went. So why bother trying? For the reality was, school was just like every other place, and every other place was just like school; a place where he didn't have any control. Someone else had a plan laid out for him.

So, he kept that feeling to himself.

He kept quiet in fear that the more he tried to force himself to remember, the more he'd forget. When it came naturally, unexpectedly, it brought brevity to his situation. Like a surprise gift. And other times, he couldn't remember it at all. Just like he was starting to forget simple things back in Finchley.

Yes, he did lash out when it got to be too much to keep in. But then he'd do it all over again. He'd move through the days and the nights, doing what was expected of him. Say what he needed to say. Do his chores. Stay out of the way. Be nice. Go to school. He was sure Mrs. Macready was happy about that part; she'd have the house nice and quiet in no time. How she didn't drive herself crazy with her own company, he wasn't sure.

Then again, he did assume her to be a little loose in the head, anyway. You'd have to be crazy to enjoy giving tours to people of an old, musty house. Tours that Edmund was glad to stay out of the way of. He preferred to learn about the artifacts in the house on his own. When he could sneak a chance to get close enough, anyway. God forbid he leave a fingerprint on any of them.

"Ed."

It was said quietly, but still enough for Edmund to stop counting and give Peter a look that clearly read "What do you want?" even through the small gaps between his fingers.

"Well, come on, then," Peter said, merely blinking at his brother's dark look. "What was your nightmare about?"

"You're smart, you bloody figure it out," was on the tip of Edmund's tongue, but knew not to say it. Peter didn't need that. He was, after all, just doing what he was supposed to, and looking out for them all. Instead, Edmund pulled his hands from his face. "Nothing. I just couldn't sleep."

Peter lifted his gaze skywards. Then, he stood up straight and reached upwards, jumping up to grasp the branch that twisted towards him. It bobbed under his weight, but still held him up. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You can tell me, you know."

Pulling his lips to the side, Edmund said, "I'm just tired. Haven't been getting a lot of sleep."

"Why not?" Peter watched him, swinging back and forth for a moment before he dropped back down to the soft dirt. Edmund shrugged. "We're all tired of this, Ed. Being here. The war. Waiting for one of mum's letters to see if we can finally go home. But you can't go around snapping at everybody."

"You're right, Pete, I'm sorry," Edmund said, sarcasm filling his words, "I'll try to be more like you. Boring." Responsible. Dependable.

"Boring, huh?" A small chuckle escaped from Peter. His tongue poked out at the side of his cheek. Planting his hands on his hips, he started stepping around the tree. Edmund watched him, his eyebrows inching closer and closer together as he watched his brother tug on tree branches until snap, snap, he held two sturdy swatches in his hand.

Wordlessly, Peter tossed one to Edmund, who caught it with one hand. A smile coming to his face, Edmund pulled his book from his pocket and carefully set it down in a patch of grass at the base of the tree. When he faced forward, Peter had already lunged towards him with his makeshift "sword."

Crying out, Edmund jumped back, swinging his branch in an arc, the two branches colliding with a thwock. Splinters of tree sprinkled towards the ground.

"Hey!" He protested. "I wasn't ready."

"You always have to be ready, Ed."

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Just give me a second," he grumbled. Peter waited patiently as Edmund ripped the leaves and extra growths from this branch, tossing them aside. Edmund did a couple of test swings and Peter lunged forward again, but Edmund was ready this time.

They shuffled across the ground, striking, and defending themselves from each other's advances. The familiar tremors of a blocked attack shot up Edmund's wrist, up to his elbow. His fingers tingled when he adjusted his grip on the "sword" in his hand.

"Come on, Ed, keep your sword up," Peter chided.

"Keep your own sword up," Edmund replied, giving the ground a swift, hard kick. Peter jumped back from the bits of dirt, leaves, and branches that shot towards his feet, laughing incredulously at his brother's actions.

"Mum and dad put me in charge. If that makes me boring…" Peter explained, shuffling back far enough to put enough space between them to talk. "I had to grow up."

Edmund snorted. "We all did." He released a sigh through his nose. He started stepping to the side in a wide circle, keeping Peter in his line of sight. "And now we're stuck here. And we can't do anything about it. Are you grown up when you're still being told what to do?"

"I get it," Peter agreed with a nod. Edmund snorted a second time. Louder. "I do, Ed. We all do. Susan and Lucy…"

"Please," Edmund muttered under his breath before he jumped forward for another strike. Peter reacted quickly, gripping his tree branch with both hands, swinging it upwards to block Edmund's overhead attack.

Peter, maybe.

Lucy, yes, for sure.

But Susan had begun to admonish them for bringing up their experiences so quickly that it bothered him. It seemed from the get go, that Susan had to cast her mind way back, way, way back just to understand a reference, or to remember a memory as something more than just a some story Lucy had just made up. Or a collective game they had played without her while she was shadowing the Macready. Sometimes, though, the twinkle of familiarity would shine in her eyes and she'd be laughing along with them.

Maybe if she did remember, Edmund found himself thinking sarcastically from time to time, she'd remember to be mbore gentle. He supposed he understood the moniker Susan went by as Queen at one point in his life. But right now, it was just laughable to him.

It had only been a year - one long, drawn out year - yet Susan's temperament had changed. She still seemed to have an answer to everything, or a correction, but not at the same frequency as before. She had become more withdrawn. Moodier. Even Lucy seemed to come away spending time with her wounded more often than usual.

And Susan and Lucy had been close. At least closer than himself and Peter. Sure, with the gap in their ages their interests didn't always line up, (there was only so many times Susan could play tea party, or dolls with Lucy), but that had never been much of an issue before. Now, though…Susan was more interested in other things. He wasn't entirely sure. Edmund had even spotted her leafing through a magazine or two.

Which helped, he guessed, as she chose to go clothes shopping with Mrs. Macready on occasion and came back with outfits she liked well enough. And sometimes she'd even let Lucy see what it was she had just bought – when she didn't want to be left alone, anyway.

They had all grown much, much faster than anyone had expected them to – the clothes they were allowed to bring with them during evacuations now outgrown. But Susan also needed more adjustments to her clothes than just letting the hem out as "her shape finally came in." Apparently, that was something the older woman had started to wonder and worry about, much to Susan's chagrin. At least, that was how he had once overheard Mrs. Macready put it to Professor Kirke. Her dresses, shirts, and skirts had fit more snug over the passing months.

With the new clothes came the new interests and Susan spent some more time styling her hair and trying her hand at makeup. She had even come to breakfast a time or two with lips pinker, and sometimes redder, than Edmund had seen before. Peter had to warn Edmund not to say a word about it all. Edmund wasn't dumb enough to do so, or else he'd incur the wrath that Susan could bring down when pushed far enough. He didn't really care all that much, anyway.

Susan just looked different.

They all did to each other, he supposed.

How often had he looked across the breakfast table to see Lucy grinning at him with large gaps in her teeth? Instead of keeping her hair long enough to just dust her shoulders, Lucy had insisted on growing it out. She even followed Susan's lead to keeping up with her hair, brushing it numerous times at night. Usually, she wore it down, like a red cape flapping behind her as she ran, or jumped around on her bed, humming whatever made up song she had in her head at the time. At other times, it was in braids, though she didn't always sit still long enough for Susan to finish braiding before she was off and running again. A constellation from cheek to cheek, her freckles stood out more against her skin that had become tanned with all the time she spent outside. And she might have had even more of them now.

The importance of being ladylike was the topic of conversation that Mrs. Macready had with her more often. Sitting up straight at the table, knowing how to properly pour tea for guests (not that they had any that stayed), and the importance of presenting yourself properly. Coming to join them at a meal covered in sweat, clothes stained, and smelling like the trees lining the property wasn't becoming of her, as she was often reminded before being shooed away for yet another bath. Still, through it all, Lucy did her best to keep the excitement of life shining through her eyes. Even through her dreaded moments of being forced to practice writing letters in the drawing room – though she did meet passing eyes with a silent cry for help.

Peter had grown tallest most of all. His shoulders widened, and his chest stuck out more. His voice deepened just as much as the depth of his appetite. Edmund cast his mind back to High King Peter's stop at the apple trees in the courtyard of Cair Paravel to twist and pluck a snack for his travels. And just because. He enjoyed the meals within the home of the Professor, but even then, he would be sure to be the last to be served so he could get steadily growing portions while making sure everyone else had enough to eat. And more often, he would politely ask if anyone else wanted any more before starting in on seconds. Still, he could be found searching for something quick to eat, multiple times during the day.

Like Susan, he had paid more attention to the war efforts. He tuned in to nightly broadcasts, stopped to briefly read the headlines on the newsstands, and he had taken up speaking with the Professor more often about his opinions on what politicians broadcast on the radio.

Maybe Edmund was eating more, too, but that was it, really. Peter would still tell him he needed to grow up after a prank went awry, Susan would tell him to stop being mean (in which he would insist he wasn't being mean, just telling the truth), and Lucy…well, he and Lucy had started to get along better. She was one to ask what was bothering him every now and then, taking his "Nothing, forget it," in stride. Though, they did still fight. After all, she was still his annoying baby sister.

"It's not ideal, but we can still try and make the best of it," Peter explained between gasps for air. His forehead shined with sweat. "Remember what dad says; there's a reason for everything, and everything can teach you something."

"Don't bring dad into this," Edmund said, dropping his arm. "Dad's gone. I thought we'd be with him by now. But what difference does it make?" Peter slowly lowered his arms, watching Edmund, chest lifting and falling with each deep breath. "Even mum and dad don't have the answers to everything. And if they don't, who does?"

"Well, if you keep thinking like that," Peter said as Edmund turned away from him, "I suppose that's a good enough reason not to listen to anyone else." He gently struck Edmund on the bottom with his tree branch as he walked past him. Edmund whirled around to glare at Peter. "Right? That's what this is all about?"

"Maybe." Edmund transferred his tree branch from his right hand to his left, weakly knocking Peter's out of the way. He flipped it into the air and easily caught it in his hand again, swinging it in the air from side to side. He'd always excelled with a sword.

"Hmm." Peter watched him, his eyes following his movements. He started talking quietly, his words falling out of his mouth, but not necessarily being spoken to Edmund. Edmund scrutinized his brother, spotting the far-off look that slowly encroached the planes of his face, that settled in his eyes.

Lifting an eyebrow, Edmund smiled to himself, taking the time to lunge forward, both hands on the branch, swinging upwards in an arc towards Peter's shoulder. Peter's eyes snapped back into focus. He twisted his mouth to the side, giving Edmund an incredulous look before reacting instinctively, quickly deflecting the oncoming attacking, gently whacking Edmund on the shoulder in retaliation.

"Hey!" Edmund frowned, grabbing at his left shoulder.

"I barely hit you," Peter defended himself, a small, shadow of a smirk on his face, "I think I bowled the cricket ball at you harder than that."

"It still hurt," Edmund said, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into his shoulder muscle. He rotated his shoulder repeatedly, a dull ache burning deep in the tissue. "It's been hurting for a bit, actually."

"Ed," Peter said with a laugh, "you're going through puberty—"

Letting out a loud groan, Edmund dropped his tree branch to slap his hands over his ears. Puberty, and hormones, and his changing body was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. Whether it was from Peter, or the Professor, or from Mrs. Macready herself.

"So, of course you're going to have some growing pains," Peter finished loudly, pulling Edmund's hands away from his ears. His abandoned tree branch lay at their feet.

"In my shoulder?" Edmund shot back, lifting an eyebrow.

He pressed his thumb straight into his shoulder, applying pressure in a small circle. It wasn't a constant pain, just something that came about every once in a while; if he stretched to high up for a book, climbing a tree, sometimes even just from lifting a glass of juice. A phantom pain that reared its head at the oddest of times, sometimes a debilitating pain that could rob him of his breath, sometimes just a dull ache.

"Anywhere," Peter replied. Then added thoughtfully, "you were rubbing your side last night, too." His eyebrows pinched towards each other. "Did you injure it?" His gaze shifted upwards to the trees around them. "Climbing trees perhaps?"

A deep frown settled on Edmund's face as he thought. Flashes of images flickered through his mind: great creatures with mouths open wide in battle cries and pain. He could see a woman with blazing eyes, fierce and commanding, yet strangely familiar. Then, his father. Smiling warmly at him from the head of the family table. His father sat stoic in uniform, yet with a slight smile in the photo situated by his bedside. Sparks flying off clashing swords, interspersed with the continuous light of bombs that rattled their home. Beams of light from the flashlights in the bunker, cutting through the darkness, waving from corner to corner in the chaos of the dirt showering down on them like snowflakes.

"I don't…I don't think so?" he said finally, all images blending together into an amalgamation he couldn't decipher. He shook his head in frustration and then focused back on Peter. Edmund rotated his arm in a circle, pressing his fingers harder into the spot. "Just hurts."

"We can tell the Professor if it gets worse," Peter suggested. "And he can take you round to the GP to get it looked at." Edmund screwed up his face. "We need to get our jabs and visit the nit nurses before school, anyway." Edmund scrunched his face up even more. "Reckon it's right better than facing Lucy's wrath if you don't try to find her."

Edmund tilted his head back and forth, weighing the two options. Getting poked and jabbed and spoon-fed medicine wasn't that great, but Lucy had been growing the ability to cut right to the point with her words as of late. When she chose to let them be known. She did obediently remove herself from the more adult conversations, but her frustration at consistently being sent away was felt in every corner of the room she occupied – her red hair blazing with the intensity of her discontent.

"Little girls shouldn't concern themselves with such things," Mrs. Macready would sniff as Lucy huffed and stormed out of the room. "And I do not want to hear those shoes clomping up the stairs." She had mumbled about scuffs and scratches on the steps, but it was the sorrowful look that crossed her face that stuck with Edmund in the wake of the heavy silence that now permeated the room. It lingered only for a fleeting second before her usual stoic demeanor returned, but was the first glimpse of empathy Edmund had seen from Mrs. Macready since they had arrived. For any of them.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Edmund shouted. Then, with a big sigh, he started on doing just that, tossing his "sword" aside.

"What was your bad dream about?" Peter asked, falling into step beside Edmund.

"Nothing," Edmund insisted. "I told you; I just couldn't sleep."

"You were white as a sheet, Ed," Peter pointed out.

Edmund pressed his lips together. Guilt still twisted his stomach from his from his past betrayal. He wasn't he could ever find the words to explain it or why he had even done it. But deep down, he knew that Peter, Susan, and Lucy wouldn't understand the torment he felt over the presumed second betray of stabbing their father to death, even if it was just a nightmare.

A/N: Suddenly got the Narnia bug again, and figured out a bit more how I want to balance what we see in the opening of the fic, and here we are with a new chapter. Just hope this inspiration and motivation lasts a while! One of the things I always wanted to know between LWW and PC (movies more specifically) was how the Pevensies adjusted to life as kids again. Their characters and characterization are just so fascinating to me so I'm giving it a whirl.

Thanks for taking the time to read,

-Rhuben