Disclaimers in part one

Here it is - the final part. After a very long spell of writer's block, this one practically wrote itself, so my thanks to C.S. Lewis for inspiring me!

Thanks also to everybody who reviewed - it is amazing how a little encouragement can really keep you motivated.

CHAPTER NINE

Finishing the course

Edmund woke with a gasp and immediately sat up, feeling the perspiration on his forehead prickle as it dried in the cool air of the dormitory. He fancied he could still hear the echo of a gunshot in the quiet room.

It was his second night back in the dormitory and his third night in a row being awoken by the sound of a gun. He recalled very little else from the dream except a feeling of terror and a rushing sensation as though he were falling from a great height. He decided the details were unimportant, as it didn't take a genius to guess where his dream came from or why it was reoccurring.

He knew Peter was worried about him - he was rather worrying himself, if truth be told. He could think of many occasions when he'd been in as much, if not more, physical danger than he had been in the hills of Herefordshire - incidents involving Ogres sprang to mind, not to mention Galman pirates, hags and Telmarines. He'd been into battle, fought hard, bloody and close with sword and dagger, dispensed justice in ways a British courtroom would hardly recognise. Why, after all his experience, did he feel this way now? Why did he feel as though his very foundations had been washed away so that he was left fragile and exposed, teetering on the edge of a cliff?

He lay down again, curling onto his side, listening to the quiet breathing of the other boys. On their first return from Narnia, nearly four years ago now, being surrounded by humans, other than his siblings, had felt decidedly…odd. Perhaps he was too used to being different. Now he found it comforting, like a wolf found comfort in his pack. He could quite readily admit that there was a certain charm in being one of the crowd, rather than the ringmaster. Perhaps, he realised with a jolt, he had grown too complacent - too dependent on the judgment of others. Hadn't he promised himself that terrible day, when he was ten, that he would never put himself first again? At Beruna, that determination had made him see more clearly than he had ever done, made him go after the Witch's wand as though nothing else mattered and no obstacle was going to stop him. He had taken responsibility.

Well, he was certainly feeling like that all over again, except this time, there was no dramatic catalyst for his redemption; no convenient monster standing in the wings for him to vanquish. He had failed, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Pieter Muller's death may have been welcomed by the unthinking crowd, but to him, it was a personal failure. He had not known enough and not done enough, and in the end, he had made a bad decision and a man had died. He'd really thought, there on the bridge, that if he took himself out of the equation, the situation would be resolved peacefully. He had been in the way! Pieter had been holding him because he was stuck in a cycle he couldn't break out of, and the soldiers and policemen and everyone hunting him, couldn't act in case Edmund was injured. He had been the impasse.

Well, he had resolved it. Permanently.

Edmund sometimes felt he was cursed with self-awareness. He knew he was too ready to take guilt on his shoulders - Peter accused him of it often enough! He could even play Peter's counter-arguments in his head as to why he had somehow acted utterly virtuously in this whole mess. He didn't buy it, which is why he wouldn't let Peter say the words out loud to him. The problem was, he wasn't just guilty this time, he was culpable, just as he'd been in the betrayal of his siblings all those years ago. There was a subtle difference that only a student and practitioner of justice could truly appreciate.

So, it was a wonder he was getting any sleep at all really, between the strange dreams and his circling thoughts. His only distraction and remedy had been immersing himself in schoolwork, but even long hours in the library couldn't keep him permanently away from his schoolmates.

That was the worst of it - dealing with the awestruck looks, cheerful, teasing comments and barely-concealed jealousy. He truly didn't wish what had happened on anyone else, but sometimes he came very close.

So, another early morning of fitful dozing was followed by running the gauntlet of comments over breakfast and the avoidance of his brother's watchful eye. Lunch was not much better for Peter cornered him near the staff dais which meant he couldn't escape easily without being noticed.

"Can we talk later?" Peter had asked hurriedly. He was obviously trying to keep his tone casual and not succeeding at all.

"Umm…I have history Prep and…"

"Ed…please!"

Oh Lord, he'd never been able to withstand that look,

"Yes, all right". Ed agreed with a sinking heart and watched Peter retreat with a strange combination of dread and hope.

When he reached the table and glumly helped himself to the ubiquitous boiled potatoes, his day deteriorated yet further when Carmichael decided to sit next to him. John Carmichael was not widely admired within the school - not, for once, because he was uninterested at sport and in fact was a half decent batsman, but because he was rather too fond of talking down to the other boys. His father had by some means or other managed to make himself indispensable to the government of the day, which was no doubt fine for the government, but made his son quite insufferable.

Since Carmichael fancied himself as being somewhat well placed when it came to privileged information, Edmund had no doubt at all that his little 'adventure', as everyone insisted on calling it, had rather put his nose out of joint and Edmund was about to pay.

"Well, Pevensie, caught any more Germans today?" he smirked, enjoying his witticism too much to care that few others shared his amusement.

"Carmichael", Edmund said neutrally, hating to acknowledge the other boy, but knowing that ignoring him would only make it worse.

"My father says that the chaps in London are rather keen to hush the whole thing up, so I'm afraid your heroics were rather wasted, old chap. But I'm not supposed to talk about it…" he trailed off in a mysterious manner. Disappointed by the lack of response, he continued to needle.

"But, why are you so glum? Anyone would think you weren't pleased that there was one fewer Jerry for us to worry about!"

Edmund clenched his teeth. Even a few of the boys sitting near them looked rather shocked. It was one thing to think that, but to say it out loud was rather unsporting.

"In fact, I'd say it was downright unpatriotic!" He looked around, head high, rather pleased with himself. Edmund couldn't help but gape at his stupidity.

"I say, Carmichael, that's a bit off", ventured Matthews, rather weakly, but well meant all the same. Being unpatriotic was the worst sin the boys could commit while the war raged, and being accused of it was just as bad.

Carmichael, rather excited from suddenly having more attention given to him than he was used to, failed to gauge the mood of his primary victim.

"Pevensie", he said, his voice suddenly chummy, "did you see him do it?"

Edmund stared at him in shock, repelled by the rather unpleasant voyeuristic shine in the other boy's eyes,

"Carmichael, I'm asking you nicely to stop talking about this now".

"Oh come on now, it's only a simple question! Besides, I remember now, he chucked you in the river before he did the deed, didn't he? Jolly decent of him!" he laughed as though the idea of a decent German was the only ridiculous thing about the conversation,

"I bet you're sorry you missed it, though…"

Something snapped in Edmund - some restraint he didn't even realised he held down, until now. Before his conscious mind could catch up, he'd stood and punched Carmichael firmly and accurately in the nose. Contrary to what he had always been told, it did make him feel better. The inevitable scuffle ensued, with some rather less accurate blows being exchanged before they were broken up and Edmund was marched rather firmly out of the Hall. He glanced at his schoolmates as he was led past them and was rather pleased (and relieved) to find approval on their faces. Matthews even went so far as to give him a discrete thumbs up, which rather boded ill for Carmichael's future popularity.

Then he caught sight of Peter's face and all inclination to be amused left him. A few days ago, before this had all started, he'd thought he rather enjoyed shocking his elder brother…now he wasn't so sure.

Being summoned before the Headmaster was inevitable after all that. That made twice in a week, but the first occasion had been rather different; involving a rather too hearty handshake, a speech about public duty and 'doing one's part', somewhat temperate thanks for his 'role' in 'events' and a hope that all would return to normal very soon. Edmund doubted very much that Paxman relished another personal audience with a Pevensie, in fact, he imagined their stock with the Headmaster had taken rather a fall of late - getting attention for anything other than academic or athletic prowess was not the done thing at all.

Edmund suspected that it was precisely for this reason that he got off as lightly as he did. A fistfight usually merited much more than five whacks on the hand from the Headmaster's trusty cane. Edmund took it all without flinching, but wondered if it had ever occurred to Paxman that beating a boy who had just been through a traumatic experience, however mildly it was done, was not the most helpful action to take. The concluding interview had followed the more usual pattern: a request from Paxman to tell him exactly what Carmichael had said, an invitation politely declined by Edmund, countered by a stern reminder of the virtues of self-control and appropriate response, and followed by the expected verbal expression of contrition.

Paxman, typically, released him just in time for Prep. Also typically, Peter was waiting for him near his common room and there was really no way he could avoid him any more, he was not even sure he wanted to.

Peter, his face set, said nothing at all when Edmund slowed and came to stand in front of him. Edmund swallowed nervously, for Peter quite unknowingly, could make armies falter when he gave that stony look and there would be no gainsaying him now. So, when he held out a hand, still silent, Edmund put his own into it without hesitation. Peter looked at his brother's reddened palm and his jaw tightened.

He dropped the hand abruptly, then gave Edmund a gentle shove between the shoulder blades, herding him away from the common room,

"Come with me".

Edmund trotted down the corridor obediently, Peter's hand at his back, and he was not surprised when he was steered into the Senior dorm. He was not really supposed to be here, but Peter had a way of ignoring rules when he wanted to. It was deserted and it was possible Peter was responsible for that as well. Really, he was better off not asking.

"Are you hurt? Other than the obvious".

Peter's voice was terse and Edmund inwardly winced. His brother only sounded that abrupt when he was really upset about something and didn't want to show it.

"No. It wasn't much of a fight".

Peter turned his back quickly, and walked a few paces away from his brother,

"Not much of a fight…" he echoed slowly and quietly. He turned back and now Edmund could see cracks in the stony façade,

"What the Hell did he say to you? I've never known you to throw the first punch!"

Edmund put his head down guiltily for Peter had lost his emotional control and what most would read as anger, Edmund recognised as worry and hurt. There was no surer way to hurt Peter than not to trust him with something. Edmund had known this, but had kept quiet anyway because he didn't want Peter to know the extent of his culpability. He sighed and gave Peter the short version,

"He basically wondered why I wasn't jumping for joy that Pieter…the airman…was dead and…he questioned my patriotism".

Peter looked briefly murderous and Edmund took an involuntary step backwards, not having seen that look for many years. Peter's face softened instantly, but his fists clenched and remained so for quite a long time.

"His name really bothered you, didn't it?" Peter said suddenly and completely off the point. His voice had a contemplative tone as though he was realising something.

"Of course it did!"

"It was a complete coincidence".

"I…know that".

Edmund wasn't sure what Peter was getting at, but he was too near the heart of the matter for comfort.

"I'm not sure you do…I think his name made it personal for you. I know you Ed! I think you tried to save him". Peter's tone had switched from questioning to certain by the time he had expressed his thoughts.

Edmund couldn't quite bear to look Peter in the eye,

"Well, I didn't do a very good job of it, did I?" he opined, his voice unsteady.

"Didn't…Ed!" Peter cried, sounding quite incredulous, "he could have killed you! He very nearly succeeded. Do you think I didn't see him shoot at you?"

"You don't understand, Peter!" Edmund shouted, wondering why his clever brother was failing to get the point, "he was afraid! He didn't know what to do", he finished weakly.

Peter stared at him wonderingly,

"You were afraid too, Ed",

"I…yes…but even so, it was my fault that…"

"Oh my God, Eddy. When you get it wrong, you really get it wrong".

Peter hadn't called him Eddy in a long time. He also hadn't sounded quite that upset in a long time, either. Or as angry.

Peter grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him closer. He was wearing what Edmund had often told him was his 'Older Brother' face. Peter often teased that Ed should beware the face - it could make him cry like a little girl. There was no humour in it today,

"Edmund Pevensie! You did the best you could, and your best is something to see. You did more than anyone had the right to expect you to do. How many lives did you save? You saved my life - was that the wrong thing to do? I'm so proud of you I could burst!"

Peter leaned down slightly so he could look Edmund directly in the eye and pinned him with an intensity that made his skin prickle,

"When and why in all of this stupid mess did you decide that saving the world was your responsibility? When did you decide that saving him was your responsibility? It never was, Ed. It never was! In the end, he was responsible for himself. You are not the reason Pieter Muller is dead!"

He finished on a loud burst of desperation and sincerity, gripping Edmund's shoulders as though he wanted to shake the truth into him. For once, Edmund was rendered speechless.

Then he started to cry.

Peter stayed with him and was very patient, and he never teased Edmund about it later.

Afterwards, embarrassment at the intensity of his own emotions got the better of him and he pushed Peter away, muttering about getting some air. His brother let him go with a rueful smile. Peter with his honest heart, and steadfast faith, and genius for seeing the truth of the matter. Peter who he knew didn't always need words, but when he wanted to use them, could be quite devastating. Peter who had shaken him about and turned him on his head like the sand in an egg timer.

When you get it wrong, you really get it wrong.

Edmund moved faster, almost at a run, as though his speed could outpace the emotions churning under his skin. Complete, utter relief was foremost, he thought. Relief and…sorrow. Mostly for Pieter Muller, but some of it, because he was allowed now, was for himself. Sorrow for the situation he'd been put into, through no fault of his own.

Quite different from the awful self-pity he'd been indulging in. How Peter had stood him like that, he'd never know. He could only be thankful that he had.

He found his favourite bench near the football pitch and sat down, rather glad of the chilly late-afternoon air on his warm cheeks. He stared at the posts of the empty goal and thought for a moment about guilt. He still felt it, and probably always would when it came to tragic situations. It was human nature, and his nature to do so. Something else was niggling at him, though - it had been buried under all the drama and the soul-searching, but was now coming to the surface, demanding to be dealt with.

He did still feel guilty, not for something he'd done, but something he'd failed to do. He'd spent a year mourning the loss of Narnia and of Aslan without noticing that he'd lost nothing at all. He'd lacked that faith. Aslan had said he and Lucy would learn to know him here and he was intelligent and intuitive enough to know what that meant almost at once. The trouble was, there was a difference between knowing it and feeling it and he'd dealt with that difference by ignoring the issue all together.

Until it had been abruptly brought to his attention.

It was strange, but he realised now that his fall from the bridge would always be a defining moment for him. It had represented utter failure, but now seemed like a moment of triumph. He realised that the moment he had trusted that Aslan (and Peter) would catch him was the moment he finally put his trust in God.

He realised that he'd stayed outside longer than he should have when Peter came to find him to drag him back for supper. He was stiff and chilled, but really rather hungry after all, so he wasn't unwilling, he just needed to get a few more things off his chest first. He looked up at Peter to explain, but obviously didn't need to as his brother was already making himself comfortable on the bench beside him.

"I know that look - you've got something on your mind, and I'm not going to get to eat until you tell me".

Edmund, delighted to have the easy, warm-hearted Peter back, blurted out,

"Pete, you've been an absolute brick. I don't know how you put up with me sometimes, but…well…thank you for doing it".

It was positively gushing for Edmund, and he knew it. He could feel his cheeks turn pink and ignored Peter's amused look.

"I don't know how I do it, either", he murmured in response, then turned serious again, "But that's not what you wanted to tell me", Peter stated confidently.

"No. No it's not." There was a long silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. When it came to his brother, Peter sometimes had infinite patience. Eventually Edmund said,

"I've been thinking about Aslan", he began slowly, not looking at his brother, "and…and…Jesus, um…" he paused again, not sure why he was so hesitant, almost shy. He glanced at Peter out of the corner of his eye. His brother was watching him with a thoughtful look, but he didn't say anything, just nodded at him to continue.

"Faith and trust", Edmund said. A complete non sequitur - except, in his mind, it was anything but.

"Sorry?"

"That's what I was thinking when I…fell. Faith and trust. Aslan and Jesus. You." He stopped again, quite unable to continue, caught in his brother's heartbreaking gaze. He sighed then, weary, not sure if he could fully explain, make Peter understand why it was so important.

"We're all here", he said, eventually. "You, me, Aslan, we're all here."

"Ed…I don't…" Peter's voice was so uncertain, so filled with concern that Edmund's throat tightened in sympathy. He looked back intently.

"I mean…here in England. You and me, Aslan. Everything we were in Narnia is everything we are here. Nothing has changed. It's just…it's just harder to find. Pete, this is Narnia, in a way - we just have to see it".

There was a flash of comprehension in Peter's eyes, a moment of understanding. Peter reached up a hand and lay in gently on Edmund's cheek, his thumb pressing lightly at the corner of one anxious, tired eye. Edmund blinked slowly, moved beyond words at his brother's tenderness. So rare, so very Peter.

"I know, Ed. I know". Peter's voice was kind, but it was still coloured with concern, despite the gentle smile on his face.

"I'm fine", Edmund said quickly, but Peter just shook his head.

"No you're not. But you will be."

Edmund acknowledged the truth of this by saying nothing at all.

Peter smiled again, rather ruefully this time, then his hand moved to the back of Edmund's neck and he gently shook his brother, back and forth,

"Come on, you little oik, stop brooding away on this bench. Come and get supper before the starving hoards eat all the cake".

Edmund smiled up at Peter, feeling lighter than he had for quite a while,

"I'll come in a moment."

"Are you sure?" Peter's voice was suspicious and Edmund's smile grew broader.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not going to…run away.

Peter scowled in an exaggerated manner and flicked Edmund on the ear as he moved his hand back to his side. Edmund yelped and ducked.

"Be sure you don't", his brother threatened as he walked towards the school.

Edmund merely grinned at his brother's retreating back.

THE END