Okay. This was not my fault. This just crept up on me and smacked me full in the face. (Sighs) Down with plot bunnies…I'm blaming Shauna for this! I never meant for this to happen!

This has absolutely nothing to do with the storyline of Ironic synchronicity or the alternate universe in which that plot resides…MISTAKEN PERCEPTION WILL NOT BECOME SLASH!

Disclaimer: If the ghost of CS Lewis would be so kind as to NOT strike me down, I don't own it. Do I look rich?

Warnings: Light incestuous slash (Peter/Edmund). Nothing beyond kissing, really. And slow development. Extremely.

Pairings: Peter/Edmund (eventually), Tumnus/Lucy.

Rating: PG13 American, 12 English.

This fic is really exploring the nature and diversity of love. What defines simple 'innocent' love from a deeper, more emotional love, and why is it sometimes viewed as wrong? In fact, what is love?

Anomaly

Vanilla and Mint

I don't understand.

It was a single mistake.

A fluke.

It won't happen again; nobody need remember it. Even I needn't. I could just write it off as a dream, a memory, a figment of my imagination. In the past. Insignificant.

But I can't.

It lingers, still. Plagues me in every waking moment, and curses me every night. It was a blessing, a grace, and yet so terrible, so profoundly…wrong, I can hardly bear to think of it.

So why did it feel so right?

Somehow, some way, I treasure it. Hold it in a dear place, in my heart, a place nobody but he has ever been held. And there it will stay, quietly hidden, a frail thought in a dream of a dream.

I'm falling; falling down, drowning in a sea of colours. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. I do nothing.

Cruelly, I don't want this dream to end.

He'll always be the dream that fills my head.

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Midsummer's Eve, Fifth year of the Golden age.

"Aslan be praised! The High King! King Peter returns!"

Edmund's heart immediately flipped in a violent somersault, his stomach churning. He was almost afraid to look up, in case…just in case the sentry was wrong. It had happened before.

He stood perfectly still, hidden in the lengthening shadows of an archway in the main courtyard. The sun was setting over the eastern sea, and the sky was awash with painted blends of gold and soft pink. Shafts of sunlight spilled across the flagstones, patterned shadows of vines on the battlement making it appear as a canvas, and nature the artist.

He could truly say he loved his country with devotion. But even Cair Paravel, with its beauteous splendour…seemed as cold and empty as Edmund's own heart, without Peter there.

Edmund slowly raised his head as the stones shook lightly beneath him, echoing the pounding of a thousand thundering footsteps. He frowned, as he recalled the rebounding hordes of creatures which had devotedly accompanied Peter when he left.

Almost two years ago, now. It had seemed a thousand ages to Edmund. When the Northern Giants upon the border had grown bolder, Narnia had finally yielded, and sent all the troops they could gather together to face the threat.

Last they had heard, almost two thirds of the army would not be returning.

Edmund leant his aching head against the smooth stone of the archway, drawing comfort from the trapped warmth of the dying sun in its old bones. Susan and Lucy had smiled, and shed a few tears, and shared his burden as they waited endless nights for news.

Seven months ago, the last griffin messenger had died of his wounds before he could deliver his message. And after that, nothing. No more news came.

Edmund had died a little each passing day since then. He was surprised he had any strength left to stand at all. Visions of his brother, the High King, falling in battle, stabbed from behind, shot, crushed in an oversized fist which made Peter look so delicate. Weak.

He shivered.

"Sire?"

A young faun guard had halted in his galloping step towards the gates, and dropped a hasty bow. Edmund inclined his head, and turned his gaze once more upon the high parapet above which bore a rippling flag. Depicting a roaring lion, caught mid-rear.

He had prayed for deliverance; even at the cost of a thousand Narnian countrymen…he would have his brother safe. And, terribly, he felt no guilt. Although he knew he should.

"Will you not come to the gates?"

Edmund nodded and dismissed the faun with a single gesture of his hand, feeling suddenly exhausted. His every limb ached with fatigue, a relief which ran deeper than the very marrow in his bones. As the faun clacked hurriedly across the courtyard, Edmund let out a slow breath.

A fell breeze swirled about him, lifting his dark hair and cooling his burning head. He inhaled deeply, and blinked as a familiar scent was brought to him upon nature's breath. He smiled, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Mint and vanilla.

Peter.

And he was running. Flying to the gates, his own pounding footsteps lost amid the approaching thundering torrent of noise. The gates were inching slowly open with a screech of rusty hinges, and a sentry sounded a joyous fanfare above.

The creatures of Narnia flocked to the gates to witness the long awaited return of their army, and their King. Edmund kept to the shadows, standing upon a shadowed stairway, easily able to see over the sea of bobbing heads and brightly coloured assorted creatures which filled the courtyard.

He could not help a small smile as the crowds abruptly fell silent, save for the whisperings of a few youngsters. The gates had been thrown wide, and an eerie quiet settled. The hoofed and cloved approaching feet had slowed to a gentle gallop, almost teasing.

Edmund swallowed thickly.

And then, a mighty cheer arose, as a blurred figure upon a pearly white horse led the returning forces through the gates, and came to a rearing halt in the centre of the parted crowds.

Edmund nearly wept with relief.

He barely heard the ruckus around him, the brightly swirling colours and the pleasant chaos of excited voices. His burning eyes were affixed upon the single figure, leaning down to clasp hands with his people.

He only realised he was biting his lip when he tasted coppery blood upon his stinging face.

Peter was distracted; his sky blue eyes scanning the crowds, his half smile only for show. Edmund felt his heart leap, and moved slowly forwards into the light, waiting impatiently, and yet dreading the moment.

He felt a smile creep across his face.

Peter's hair had grown to his chin, golden strands falling freely into his face and brushing his pale cheeks. Too pale. He looked worn, and somehow far older than his nineteen years allowed. His blue eyes looked haunted, and-

Edmund clapped a hand to his mouth as Peter turned his head.

A deep, half healed gash across his brother's temple still spilled phantom, dried blood down his face, and dark blemished bruising marred the entirety of the left his neck.

And then the moment was broken, as their eyes met.

Peter blinked, and his eyes spilled over with a magnificent joy which brought the warmth back to his face. He smiled a true smile, and leapt lightly from his saddle, the crowd surging quickly away to form a path to the shadowed stairway.

Edmund stumbled down the last few steps, all the world besides his brother suddenly fading into a blur of meaningless colour and noise. Neither blinked nor looked away, and Edmund felt as though he was drowning in his brother's eyes.

And then they met. Edmund, a single step above his brother, felt strange. Peter stopped, craning his neck to look up at him. He must have grown. Two years ago, step or no step, Peter would have towered over him.

Silence had fallen over the courtyard; a respectful lull for the reunion of brothers. For a moment they stood awkwardly, Peter flushed and slightly out of breath, Edmund hesitant.

Then Peter smiled, and reached for him, and Edmund let out a choked laugh as he embraced his brother tightly.

And it seemed as though the sun truly shone for the first time in years.

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Autumn, Fifth year of the Golden Age.

Nobody said anything, of course. Not Susan, not Lucy, none of the courtiers. But they saw; they knew. Those who had returned from the war had…changed. They bore haunted expressions, and long after they had all been bathed and clothed like returning heroes, they still slumped, and smelt distinctly of blood.

It did not go unnoticed that a large percentage of the army had not returned at all. Those who had didn't seem grateful for their salvation; moreover, they seemed bitter. Not towards each other, and not towards Peter. But towards themselves.

Peter was deeply entrenched in grievance.

Following all the formalities, the greeting of the higher members of society, the triumphant march through the inner gates, Edmund lost track of time. Days passed. And Edmund began to grow more and more desperate. He gave thanks every morning, as the sun rose, to whatever higher power had delivered his brother.

And yet cursed it, for causing Peter such pain.

Peter cut his hair short again, and the colour seemed to creep slowly back to his pale face; but there was no ignoring the smudged shadows beneath his eyes spawned from countless nights of torment. The scars which marred the High King's face faded, the blood washed away. But it seemed as though Peter's hurt ran deeper than shallow surface wounds.

Edmund would have born it all in a heartbeat, to relieve Peter…but the fact was that he could not understand. And therefore could not help.

All he could do was sit in beside the door to Peter's room every night, and wait in agonising silence for the muffled sobs to fade into quiet. Then he would creep, like a shadow, and carry his brother from the cold windowsill to his bed. Sometimes he stayed, sometimes he had to tear from the room, before his own sobs woke Peter.

If Peter ever wondered how he moved from the window to his bed every morning, he never mentioned it.

After a fortnight of this vicious cycle, when one morning over breakfast, Susan announced the approaching arrival of ambassador consorts from the Kingdom of Archenland. Peter had merely grunted and nodded, lowering his gaze once more to pick at his food morosely.

Lucy bit her lip, took a deep breath, and plastered a smile across her face. She pushed her plate away and fixed her elder sister with an encouraging look.

"That's wonderful, Susan! When are they coming?"

Susan blinked, looking away from giving Peter a concerned look, and managed a weak smile for Lucy. Edmund felt his stomach squirm, his recently ingested breakfast feeling suddenly unpleasant. He swallowed thickly, and looked around the table.

"Tomorrow, mid-afternoon. I was thinking we might hold a banquet dance in their honour, with the usual pleasantries."

"Oh, that would be lovely! I'll ask Mr Tumnus to spread the word!"

Lucy exclaimed, but even Edmund knew it was not genuine. She gazed almost imploringly at her eldest brother, willing him to react, to say something, and then she looked pleadingly to Edmund.

Peter still refused to look up. Edmund felt a powerful surge of anger, grief and something quite different fill the pit of his stomach with lead. It writhed and burned, and he swallowed, determinedly pushing it to the back of his mind.

Susan had looked away from Lucy, her fake temporary smile fallen. Lucy was looking from Peter to Susan, a look of desolate despair filling her kindly face.

"Oh, for the love of-"

Edmund slammed his goblet down on the table, and all three of his siblings jumped, startled. Edmund rose from his seat, fists clenched, shaking. With anger, or fear, or pure misery, he didn't know.

"This is…just…I…I hate this! You-"

His voice grew louder and louder until he was shouting, and there was a shocked silence as his words rebounded around the great dining hall. Edmund felt a savage triumph as Peter finally raised dull blue eyes to look at him in surprise.

He had become sick of it. Of it all.

Gazing into his brother's eyes, he tried, and miserably failed, to form the words. The stark weakness he saw in his brother's broken face was enough to render him mutely speechless. Frustrated, he tore his gaze away.

"Oh, forget it! I'm leaving."

Edmund stormed from the room in a whirl of stormy grey, as all three of his sibling's eyes followed him, transfixed. After a short moment, Peter neatly pushed his still full plate aside with a clatter, and absently tucked a stray strand of golden hair behind his ear. His brow furrowed slightly, a deeply exhausted, but troubled expression filling his gaze.

His sister's watched him quietly, waiting.

"Would you…arrange the banquet, please Susan? I'll…I'll be down to help you, in a little while."

He said clearly, although his voice seemed somehow thin and weak. The tone was forcibly impassive, and Susan nodded, giving him a small smile, understanding. He gave her hand, which he had taken across the table as he spoke, a grateful squeeze, and slid off his chair, standing slowly.

Lucy did not miss the way he clutched at the back of the chair for support before straightening, wincing slightly at the complaint of still healing hurts. He caught her concerned look, and his pale face grew sad. He moved around the table, pausing beside her, and touched a hand briefly to her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Lu. Truly. I'll…try harder."

She beamed, and nodded enthusiastically, her entire face lighting up. She faltered when she saw the deepening sorrow and terrible guilt which plagued her brother's eyes, and reached up to wrap her arms briefly around him.

"You don't need to try, Peter. Just remember how."

He gave her a confused look, but she shook her head, and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the door. He managed a small smile, and turned, heading after his brother.

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Fate has a strange sense of humour, it seems. It is playful; likes to twist the world to its ways. And those who don't abide with fate, have only themselves to blame when they fail to defy it.

And, in the end, they all fail. And some lose more than they gain in the fight.

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A/N: Well, it took countless hours of non-stop cajoling but I finally gave in. I will state again, that this has absolutely nothing to do with my other Narnia fics.

IMPORTANT: This fic is the first slash I have written properly…and it will probably be the lightest you've ever read. So light it could almost be mistaken for brotherly love. Almost. But not really.

It's a bit darker, more serious, than my other fics too. I think I'll save it for rainy days.

Comments would be deeply appreciated! Should I just delete this thing and save myself some pain?

Thanks for reading!