Disclaimer: No I don't own any part of Narnia or make a money or such of this fic.

Thanks: I would like to thank my wonderful beta Elecktrum. Thank you for all your incouragement and help. I'd also like to thank several others friends who had a small hand in helping this along. Inkling Astrophel, H Max Marius, and any others I might have shown my "secret" fic to. I know there weren't many.

Authors Note: I'm not sure quite where this Idea came from. The best I can come up with is that I had reading Opera Dove's "Worth"(A very interesting story.) and several others where nobody quite belived them. I belive I wroite this in frusteration of that fact and felt somebody should. I don't think I ever imagined that it would get this far. So please enjoy "The Truth of What Is."

"Edmund, could you come here, please?" Phillip Pevensie called from the parlor doorway.

It was a cozy room with a fireplace and comfortable chairs, perfect for curling up with a good book on a cold day. The Christmas tree was up and lights twinkled amidst old decorations of reds, greens, blues, golds, and silvers. Branches of evergreen, cut from the trees on his in-laws' property and delivered by Helen's father and brother, adorned the mantle. Beneath them, the stockings had been hung. Edmund had hung Peter's stocking himself, the only thing missing now was his elder boy.

There came a hurried thudding of footsteps as Edmund raced down the stairs.

"Yes, Dad?" he asked.

"My, how you've grown. I almost didn't recognize you at the station," Phillip exclaimed warmly.

"Thanks," Edmund replied, grinning as he hugged his father. "We missed you too," Edmund replied, grinning. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about. It's been bothering me for a bit," he explained seriously, gesturing to Edmund to sit.

Slowly, he lowered himself into a chair across from his son, wincing as pain from the wound in his leg, a souvenir from the war, flared up. Once again, he told himself he need not dwell on the horrors of war any longer. He was safely home with his family and it was nearly Christmas.

As the spasm of pain passed, Phillip saw his boy involuntarily cringe. He wondered at the reaction and what forces had wrought such changes upon his son. Edmund had matured so much. More than he had realized at first glance.

"Dad?"

"Remember when you fell out of that tree and broke a rib some months back? Well, the doctor told me he had seen an awful-looking scar on your chest." Pausing, he leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees. There was a worried look on his face and Edmund noticed an uncertain tone to his voice as he continued. "Did something happen to you while you were at the Professor's?"

At the mention of the scar beneath his heart, Edmund stiffened and his face paled. As Phillip finished, he turned away, hoping his father would not see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

The memory of his betrayal of those closest to him and the regret that never seemed to fade came back in a flash. He desperately wished his brother was here to help him tell the tale. For a few moments, silence blanketed the room. Then sighing wearily, he hesitantly began to speak.

"A lot of things happened to me, while I was away at the Professor's. Of course, I'll tell you, but you may not believe me. It was hard for me to believe at first, too. It happened one day when we were playing hide-and-go-seek. You know how much Lucy used to love that game ...."

"...and she was striding towards Peter with her wand, so I ran as fast as I could towards the battlefield. There must have been at least three ogres I had to fight through. Just as she turned one of the leopards to stone, I reached her.

She saw me and whirled around intent on making me a statue as well. I stepped back, and brought my sword smashing down on her wand. There was a brilliant blue explosion and the air around me was bitingly frigid. The shards of an icy crystal material peppered my face and the ground around me. There was a murderous look in her eyes. She was furious that someone, especially me, had broken her greatest weapon. With an experienced move and a twist of her blade, she knocked the sword out of my hand. Then she stabbed me.

"I . . . I don't really know much that happened after that, up until Lucy healed me with her cordial," the youth said, sitting wide-eyed in his chair as the realization came to him that he had lapsed into the courtly speech of Narnia. He'd told the whole story as if he'd been telling the tale to an audience in Cair Paravel. His father had listened intently and hadn't interrupted once.

"A world in a wardrobe . . ." the older man murmured meditatively to himself. "Who would have thought?"

Edmund glanced at his father, desperate for him to believe and not give him a speech about growing up and putting away childish things. "Peter…Peter would be a better person to ask about that." Looking back out the window, he watched the flakes of snow falling. He almost half expected a sleigh drawn by white reindeer to pass by. So deep in thought was he, that he didn't hear his brother enter.

"I would be a better a better person to ask about what, Ed?" a familiar voice questioned from the doorway.

"Peter, you're back early! When did you get in?" the younger boy exclaimed, excitedly running towards his brother. His brother with flushed cheeks stood dripping just inside the room. He was still in his overcoat and scarf with a melting sprinkle of snow on his shoulders and hair. A broad smile graced his face and he shook his head laughing at his brother's rhetorical question.

"Thou art still the master of the obvious after all this time, oh brother of mine." the older youth replied, still laughing. "Didn't you hear Lucy's shout?"

"Welcome home, son," Phillip Pevensie stated as he pushed himself up slowly, favoring his bad leg.

"Thanks Father," Peter said, embracing him. "I just got back few minutes ago. Mum told me I'd find you both in here. So Ed, what were you talking about? What were you referring Father to me for?" the elder boy asked jovially.

"Narnia. The first battle," he finished quietly, a pleading look in his brown eyes that begged for Peter's approval.

"Oh," Peter said, his bright smile fading into a troubled frown. Memories flooded through his mind, thoughts of the past he thought he had pushed back into the recesses of his mind. Across the scene of his memory they played, continuing like a never-ending movie reel they came one after another.

Edmund smashing the wand… The White Witch knocking the sword of his hand and stabbing him with the jagged-edged, broken wand… Those brown eyes wide with shock and pain… That agonized expression as the wand was yanked free… His brother with that pained expression, falling, falling, falling… His body lying crumpled on the green turf. Edmund lying silent and still after Lucy had given him the cordial...

Seeing the unasked, unspoken questions in the elder man's eyes, Peter nodded. A silent answer that his brother was in fact telling the truth and that truth was more wonderful and beautiful than could be imagined. The elder boy watched Edmund as he furtively looked into their father's eyes. When Peter looked again, what he saw there startled him. There was no doubt, no criticism, just quiet wonder and delight as Phillip absorbed the truth and let the name of Aslan into his heart. In that moment a wave of relief swept over Peter, even more for Edmund's sake than his own. His father believed them.

"Phillip, boys, dinner!" their mother called from the kitchen.

Startled at this sudden interruption, the three men, soldiers all, jumped in alarm. A moment passed, and they exchanged sheepish glances, each laughing at their own reactions.

"Well Father, shall we answer the summons of the lady of the house?"

"Yes, Peter. Indeed we shall." Then in a tone of undisguised excitement and hope, Phillip continued, "Perhaps once we've finished supper, you and Edmund will both tell me more?"

Both of Narnia's kings smiled, and together they promised, "Of course, there's so much to tell."