A/N: First off, I am following the book series, not the movie. I looked up the ages of the Pevensie children and their selected schools, but they were never specifically mentioned by C.S. Lewis. Therefore, I am using my own imagination and applying what I believe to be true. If you believe me to be completely off, please let me know and I will try my best to alter my work.

Blue. Blue and red. They were the only things that could be deciphered in the ball of fists and hurling bodies and fury. Amidst the group of young boys, stood a tall, lean boy with jet black hair and large eyes. Normally, a wide smirk inhabited his face, but at the moment he could do nothing but frown at the sight before him.

"Get off a me, you jerk!" screamed one of the boys involved in the scuffle. His lip was traced with blood and a large bruise was already beginning to form around his left eye.

"Why don't you make me, baby," the other male sneered. He was a slightly pudgy boy, with cold, gray eyes that cut into his opponent and showed no mercy.

The young boy wanted to step in, but knew that another interference would just escalate everyone's troubles. But he could not bear the images in front of him any longer; head downcast, he walked away from his classmates and his older brother and headed to his boarding room, where he knew his stationary was awaiting him.

His sister would become upset when she received the letter. She would scream in frustration, most likely. With less than a fortnight left of school until the winter holidays, she seemed to be more on edge and more susceptible to lashing out on her elder brother.

The boy was just signing his name on the letter when his door slammed open and shook the small frame of his room. Without turning from his desk, he said dejectedly, "There's a clean towel in my trunk, along with some disinfectant."

"You walked away." The groan of springs resounded as the newcomer took his rest on his brother's bed.

"Well, how many times do you want me to sit and watch?"

"You're my brother, you're supposed to support me."

The younger boy swiveled around, his cheeks beginning to flush. "Support you? You're seventeen years old and still picking fights after…"

Blue eyes locked to his gaze, challenging. "After what?"

There was an awkward pause. The muffled sounds of other boys could be heard in the hallway, their footsteps bouncing of the walls and echoing down the corridor. Both boys stayed locked in their silent challenge, one daring the other to say what both knew each other were thinking.

"After you decided to grow up and start acting like an adult."

There. He had said it. The accusation had been floating around in his mind for weeks. Dozens of times had passed, when he was treating his brothers cuts and scrapes, that he wanted desperately to slap him across the face and remind him that he wasn't a stupid boy anymore. That he had made a decision merely three months ago to become a man and take responsibility for his actions. It was out of love that he'd kept his thoughts to himself, but now the time had come to set things straight.

"Oh, and you're acting like a saint, are you?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "I'm not going out of my way to take my frustration out on innocent people."

A swift movement and the older boy was on his feet, looming over the other. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," the boy stood up in response. Although three years younger, he was still just inches away from being eye level with his sibling. "You're mad at the world for its unfairness. You're mad at me, you're mad at England, and you're mad at-"

Before he had an opportunity to finish what he was saying, a forceful shove sent him sprawling over his desk, knocking his letter to the floor and his pen rolling underneath the heating duct. Still caught off guard, he barely heard his brother's thunderous statement as he exited the room.

"It's easy for you to say these things. You get to go back."