Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

Author's Note: Well…::rubs head sheepishly:: I did mean to have this up earlier, but I decided the original ending just would not work with the tone I've set for this work. I decided to rewrite it. That took a while—but I am so very pleased with it right now, and I hope you are, too!

Reviewers: All 52 of you, thank you! I had no idea this would be such a hit, and I hope it lives up to that reputation!

Rating: T (definitely upper end, folks)

Summary: Peter comes to terms with how he has treated Edmund…(Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (NO Slash)

"Speech"

/Personal Thoughts/

Memories/Quotes (Italics)

Gratitude

By Sentimental Star

Chapter Three: Complexity

(Three Hours Later, Boys' School)

Edmund worried. His brother, by nature, was a protective git (a bit too much of one, really), aided and abetted by their time spent in Narnia. He did not readily seek the comfort of his siblings, though Edmund (and the girls) often wished he would. He saw it as imperative that they never see him as anything less than invincible (though, indeed, they already had; Edmund more so than the girls). Their first, abrupt severance from Narnia only exacerbated the situation.

Now, though…now, Edmund found himself in the rather disconcerting role of comforter, when for so long Peter had been that crutch.

Quite frankly, Edmund did not know what to do. Since leaving the train station and all its chatter and clatter, Peter had been unusually silent, scarcely walking a half-meter from his younger brother's left side.

It was only when they stopped in the wide doorway of the refectory, gazing warily at the chaos within, that Edmund realized (with a thrill) that Peter was absolutely terrified. Of what, Edmund did not know.

Aware, suddenly, that Peter was trembling, he made a show of leaning amicably against his brother's shoulder, hiding the fact that he had slipped his hand into his brother's open palm. They had perfected this art in Narnia, for the times when they wanted to communicate something without being overheard by a visiting dignitary. It was proving vastly useful now, "Just get through supper, Pete," he urged softly under his breath, pasting a look of curiosity on his face as he pretended to survey the dining hall. He gave his brother's hand a hard squeeze, "Then we'll make a break for it."

In spite of everything, Peter snorted out a laugh, "You make it sound as if we're headed into battle, Ed."

Edmund smiled pleasantly at a seventh year who paused next to them in the doorway, eyeing the two Pevensie brothers curiously.

Slipping his hand out of Peter's and draping himself quite obviously over his brother's shoulders, he smirked warmly at the fellow, who quickly realized that, yes, they were, in fact, related, and yes, they were, in fact, quite close. Needing no more proof than that and clearly able to relate, the older boy laughed and continued on his way.

Once their audience was more or less gone, Edmund relaxed more fully against his brother, before reluctantly pulling away. "In a way we are, Peter," he murmured, and offered the older teenager a lopsided, half-smile when Peter tipped his head back against the younger boy's shoulder. "It's not going to be easy. Aslan never said it would be. But we've face worse odds before and come out of it all right. Frankly, I'll just be glad if we can survive supper," muttered just as two hapless first years accidentally crashed into each other.

His reward was a grateful, if watery, chuckle.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was not easy leaving the calm, deeply reassuring presence of his younger brother, if even only for supper. Neither boy was particularly eager to be separated again so soon after Narnia, but this one night, at least, the students were expected to eat with their age mates.

They were a good group of blokes, the fifth years—or, at least, most of them. Peter even had friends among them (that he had not driven away last year by his arrogance and idiocy, anyway). Of those he had been friendly with, the majority seemed to have decided to let him cool off for the year, and for a while, the only one he had let near him was Edmund (or his sisters, when they visited). Even if, most of the time, it was to have someone he could lash out at and know they would never think the less of him.

Peter winced at that last thought, poking disinterestedly at his turkey with gravy and mash. He was sure it was delicious (at least by English standards), but he simply…wasn't hungry, though he knew Edmund would be.

"He needs to eat more," Peter grumbled under his breath, suddenly recalling (now that there was no veil of anger and misery drawn over his eyes) that for the last few months before they had been pulled back into Narnia to help Caspian, Edmund seemed to have eaten very little in his presence.

Frowning now, Peter lifted his head and stared across the dining hall at his younger brother's back where Edmund sat with the other third years. The tension drained out of his shoulders (if only slightly) when he saw Edmund slicing away quite happily at a filet of salmon.

Sighing quietly, Peter turned away, crossing his knife and fork before placing them together on his plate. Bowing his head, he dragged both hands through his hair, half of him glad and grateful that his brother was actually eating decently for once, while the other half of him wished the younger boy would hurry up already so they could leave.

As soon as that thought hit him, however, searing shame flushed his cheeks. He had been utterly unfair to Edmund this past year, and one year of blame and irritation and anger was quite enough in his mind—it was more than enough, by Peter's standards.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Edmund paused mid-bite into a chunk of salmon, frowning slightly as he sensed something not quite right in the atmosphere around him.

Carefully, he finished that particular bite of his meal, slowly and deliberately chewing it until it was gone. Then he placed his knife and fork together on his plate and surreptitiously surveyed his table to both ends and either side. When he found nothing amiss there, he turned—slight suspicion growing—and snuck a glance at his brother's table. He frowned even more when he caught a glimpse of Peter just turning away.

Unhappily, he pressed his lips together and stared intently at his brother, hoping Peter would give him some clue as to what the hell was wrong.

But Peter only dropped his head into his hands, the tense set of his shoulders bringing a worried scowl to his younger brother's lips, /What are you blaming yourself for now, you noble git?/

As if his thoughts had summoned him, Peter's shoulders jerked and he spun around to face Edmund, something guilty entering the older boy's countenance.

Edmund sighed, losing his scowl, and gave his older brother a gentle, if prompting, look.

It startled a tired half-smirk out of Peter, who gingerly shook his head and pointedly glanced at Edmund's still half-full plate.

That unvoiced response had Edmund scowling again, half-heartedly and in pleasantly annoyed surprise. It had been quite a while since Peter had cared enough to fuss at him (however non-verbally) for not eating enough.

Scowling still, he speared an asparagus tip drenched in butter sauce with his fork and pointedly bit into it in full view of his brother, as if saying, See? I'm eating.

It won a faint grin from Peter, who nodded approvingly, before returning to his own meal…which, Edmund noticed with a small frown, he did not really appear to be eating.

It also garnered a few snickers from those seated around him. "What?" he demanded, scowling even more fiercely.

The lad seated across from him was one of the better, if more outspoken, fellows who seemed to have attached themselves to him this past year. He now smirked, warmly and widely, replying with great amusement, "A bit of a mother hen there, aye, Edmund?"

Edmund snorted, spearing another piece of asparagus, "That's putting it mildly," he grumbled.

"It's quite simple, really," this came from another third year, who was seated beside Edmund on their table's bench and just as dark-haired as he was, "your brother has a complex."

Edmund's next bite of salmon stopped halfway to his mouth and dropped to his plate with a clatter, "Excuse me…but my brother has a what?" he demanded.

Unfazed by the sudden glower being sent his way (which was quite remarkable in and of itself), the lad continued, "You know…a complex. An absurdly overblown sense of protectiveness, like when a fellow says you have a sister complex, only, in your case, I think it's more like a little brother one."

Edmund snorted again, stabbing a final bite of salmon, before pushing himself away from the table, fed up with the lot of them, "If Peter has a 'little brother complex'," he muttered, standing up and marching away from the table, "then I have a big brother one."

He left at least half a dozen pairs of eyes blinking after him. "…You know," the first lad who had spoken ventured at last, watching Edmund slow up once he reach the fifth years' table and drape a gentle arm across the shoulders of said big brother, "I think he does."

IOIOIOIOIOI

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when a warm arm curled around his back. "Pete?" was breathed against his ear.

The fourteen-year-old shut his eyes gratefully. " 'Lo, Ed," he muttered.

"Think you're ready to escape?"

A faint smile finally flitted across Peter's countenance as he turned to face him, opening his eyes. "I've been ready since we first got here."

There was a squeeze, and Edmund gently hefted him to his feet.

"Did you eat enough?" Peter made sure to ask softly.

Edmund snorted, rather more warmly than he had earlier at his own table. "I'm fine, Peter," he murmured as they quickly slipped into the thin stream of boys headed out of the dining hall. "I'm more concerned about you. You didn't eat very much, did you?"

Peter tightly shut his eyes and shook his head. "I wasn't all that hungry," he whispered as they exited the dining hall.

Edmund shot him a sharp look, eyebrows furrowing together worriedly. However, before he could say anything, a deep voice suddenly rang out warmly behind them in the hall: "Pevensie! Pe-ven-sie!"

Startled, both boys whirled around to find the upper forms' Literature professor headed their way down the hall, waving a small white card at them.

"Sir?" Peter asked, as the slender, absurdly tall man joined them where they stood in front of an alcove.

The elderly man's hazel (/Nearly golden,/ Edmund thought quietly,) eyes crinkled warmly at the corners as he took in Edmund's arm wrapped protectively around Peter's waist. "You nearly forgot this," he said by way of explanation, handing over the small card to Edmund. "It has your roommate's name on it."

Edmund started, blinking rapidly, "My roommate? Oh, but, sir, I thought-"

"Ah, now," the man interrupted, still smiling warmly, "no buts. A few rooms were rearranged," he winked at a highly befuddled Peter, "at least in this case." Then he turned on heel and, with a backward wave, headed in the direction of the staff quarters, one hand shoved into the pocket of his burgundy waistcoat.

"So what does it say?" Peter finally asked, leaning over Edmund's shoulder to try and read it once his instructor had walked away.

A brilliant grin suddenly split his younger brother's face. Lightly slapping Peter away, Edmund quickly shoved it into his trousers' pocket. "Never you mind," he scolded warmly. Of course, the absolutely delighted grin he wore rather negated it.

"Meaning it is probably one of your mates, and I should probably expect him to come knocking at my door during all hours of the night, asking me where you are," Peter remarked dryly, straightening up.

"You could say that," there was mischief in Edmund's tone and Peter detected it.

"Ed?" his older brother asked, puzzled.

Edmund just continued to grin, although it had considerably softened by now, and tucked a rather startled Peter back under his arm. "Come on," he chuckled, "let's get you back to your room. With any luck, we'll have a couple of hours to ourselves before your new…er…'roommate' arrives."

Peter really did not have much choice in the matter and allowed himself to be gently dragged along through the hallways of their boarding school. That is, until Edmund suddenly came to an abrupt stop in the library corridor, causing Peter to bump into him. "Erm…which way was it again?" he asked sheepishly.

It surprised a warm, half-laugh out of Peter, who ducked out from underneath his younger brother's arm and took the lead.

IOIOIOIOIOI

"Which bed is yours?" Edmund asked once they arrived at the room and Peter had unlocked the door to let them in.

"That one, I guess," his older brother replied softly, indicating the one closest to the door with his luggage already sitting at the foot of it. Peter stared a little as Edmund (rather ungracefully) flopped across the other, legs and long limbs sprawled everywhere. "Ed? You know that's my roommate's, right?"

Edmund grinned widely up at the ceiling. "I'm sure he won't mind," he replied, again with that note of mischief.

Peter seated himself rather more gracefully on said roommate's bed, sitting near his little brother's head and gazing at him upside down, frowning slightly, "Ed, I don't think-"

But Edmund merely continued to grin, tilting his head back as he smirked up warmly at him.

Peter frowned even more, eyeing him suspiciously, "You're certain."

It wasn't exactly a question, but Edmund answered it, anyway, "Very," he retorted.

Peter sighed, too tired and too worn out to play this game, "Care to enlighten me, then?"

Edmund frowned thoughtfully, reaching up to touch his brother's cheek, "Pete-" he began.

Both boys jumped when a sudden knock at the door interrupted them. While Peter's face clouded with disappointment, Edmund's did the exact opposite. With a grin that lit up his entire face, but did little more than cause his older brother to scowl at him, Edmund hopped to his feet and answered the door with a wide smile, "Yes?"

The startled dorm parent on the other side blinked at him, before asking slowly, "Edmund Pevensie?"

"Yes?" if possible, Edmund's manic grin widened.

The poor man truly started looking worried now. "I have your luggage with me."

"Thank you, sir," he answered brightly, accepting the suitcases the man held out to him.

The dorm parent was growing more bewildered by the second. "I trust you know the rules? No sneaking off after lights out at ten? No food, save in the common rooms? Study time and free time all at the appropriate hours?"

Edmund kept grinning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter's mouth drop open. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Very well, then. I'll see you at the dorm meeting tonight at eight. Good evening."

"Good evening, sir," Edmund returned quietly, as the man headed off down the hall with the luggage cart.

A moment later, he turned from the door with a soft laugh, letting it fall shut behind him. "Well, he came a little earlier than I expected," murmured mischievously; he grinned when he saw Peter still gaping at him. Setting the suitcases at the foot of the second bed—his own bed—Edmund smirked warmly. "You can shut your mouth now, Peter," he remarked with a half-stifled laugh, gently patting his older brother on the head.

The effect was instantaneous: "You little blighter!" Peter cried out happily, surging to his feet and all but tackling his currently laughing younger brother onto the bed, no longer worried about mussing up the sheets because it was his little brother's bed. "You knew! You've known since supper and you didn't tell me!" A wide smile carved his face.

Edmund was laughing too hard to really answer as his older brother's fingers sought his sides and began mercilessly tickling him. "Yes," he finally gasped out between spurts of giggles, "yes. Peter, stop! Peter, please! Stop already, you great git, stop it!" Several more spurts of laughter made their way through, but Peter finally relented.

For a few seconds after his big brother had broken off his assault, Edmund continued to convulse in his arms, trying to get his laughter back under control. Peter's face softened as he watched him, and a moment later he lay down beside Edmund on the bed, tucking one arm beneath his head. Curling the other arm around Edmund's back, he used it to draw his little brother against his chest.

"That's really not fair, you know," Edmund finally remarked when he caught his breath.

Peter merely grinned, really and truly grinned, and Edmund sent up a silent cheer when he saw it. "Neither is keeping vital information from your older brother."

"Vital," Edmund snorted softly, nestling his head against Peter's neck. "That wasn't vital. Vital is life and death. Vital is certain older brothers' tendencies to overanalyze and over think things that should remain in the past."

"Thought that was your job."

"No," Edmund snorted again, warmly. "My job is to make sure said older brothers do not wallow in self-pity and depression and—what are you doing?"

For Peter had suddenly leaned down and nuzzled their noses together. "Being grateful," he murmured.

Edmund's shy, delighted smile could have lit up all of Cair Paravel.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Neither brother went to the dorm meeting that night. They spent most of it curled together on Edmund's bed, speaking quietly about recent events and why their bond—so strong in Narnia—had strained this past year in England.

"…I never meant for it to carry over into Narnia, Ed," Peter whispered some time later, long after most of the other lads in their dormitory had gone to sleep, shame coloring his face as he bowed his head in a silent plea for forgiveness. "Truly, I didn't. Foolishly, I believed that once we were in Narnia again, everything would be all right. But it wasn't. It was different, and I reacted to that difference by taking it out on you. Caspian and Susan, even Lu—a little—too, but mostly you."

There had been a time in Narnia when anyone foolish enough to demean King Edmund within Peter's hearing (and sometimes even beyond it) found themselves treated to the full, unrestrained ire of Narnia's High King. Though words were one of Edmund's greatest strengths, if anyone put so much as a syllable out of place in regards to the younger king's honor, integrity, loyalty, or heart, they were subjected to a tirade that was more poetry than possessive (though, there was plenty of that in it, too) as Peter described in sweeping detail why his beloved brother was exactly the opposite of what they thought. These confrontations usually ended with offenders as meek as Moles and a beet-red younger brother who pulled his irate High King out of the room at the earliest opportunity.

"When" and "why" it had changed in England had not been breached until now: Peter had been hurt, and angry, and frightened, when they were tossed out of Narnia and back into England, and he had lashed out in the only way he knew how, at the only one who might understand.

No one could read Peter more easily than Edmund, and he knew his younger brother was reading him now—reading everything within him and passing no judgment until it was all laid bare before him.

When he found what he was looking for, the eleven-year-old's entire face softened and his chocolate eyes filled with comprehension and compassion.

Peter's entire frame relaxed, then, most of the tension fleeing his body, and he cuddled up to his younger brother, gently nudging his nose underneath Edmund's chin.

The younger boy blinked, dazed and slightly stunned by this clear request for comfort. Hooking his arm behind Peter's neck to hold his older brother in place, Edmund sent a silent prayer to heavens that it might work.

It seemed to: Peter's arms immediately curled tightly around his waist. Smiling sadly, Edmund turned his head until their foreheads could touch. "Aslan does not forget his kings, Peter," he finally murmured, "even if some of them can no longer return to Narnia."

He felt Peter half-smile against his neck. "I know," the older boy whispered, then sighed. "It might…take me a while to believe it, but I do know."

"Aslan is patient, Pete," Edmund reminded him softly. "He will understand."

Peter's lips pulled into something that more accurately resembled a smile. "You're quite patient yourself, Ed," his older brother teased gently, but there was no mistaking the gratitude underlying it.

Edmund snorted quietly. "Except for when you continually insist upon fraying it, you mean."

"Right," Peter agreed wistfully, "except for that." A moment later, he touched his brother's shoulder—a silent request that the younger boy release him.

Quirking an eyebrow curiously, Edmund loosened his hold, but only enough to let Peter pull back and meet his eyes.

He wasn't expecting the tenderness in his brother's blue eyes—although, considering what had passed, he shouldn't have been so surprised. Resisting the urge to fidget, he murmured, "Pete…?"

Edmund bit back a squeak as he was suddenly crushed in his older brother's arms. For several unending seconds, Peter clung to him wordlessly, trying to pour everything he couldn't say into that embrace.

His younger brother huffed quietly, slightly embarrassed, but after a few minutes, a fond smile began playing at the corner of his lips. "It's all right, Peter," Edmund assured him softly. "Really, I do understand. You don't need to say…"

Peter shook his head and tightened his grip. "No," he whispered, "I owe this to you. You deserve to know."

Edmund's smile grew. "Peter, it's all right. You were articulate enough tonight."

Peter released a deep, shuddering breath, leaning his head forward against Edmund's shoulder. "I-I just-"

"Peter…I know."

Peter snorted thickly. "Then shut up and let me hold you."

Edmund muttered a soft, "Hmph," but saw no reason not to comply.

The End