A/N: Wow. It's been four solid months since I last posted an update. I had this chapter done before I posted my last chapter, but I wanted to keep it until I could get the draft of the next chapter written out. But my muse is on holiday and didn't leave a contact behind. I can't reach her! I'm still not done with the next chapter, but decided to post this one anyway. I'm really sorry for the late update.

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.

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Chapter 7. Confrontation and Conversation

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Peter was aroused by low growls.

He lifted his head and stared dazedly at the blurry form of a boy, the apparent source of the noise.

He tried to think of where he was, and realized that he was still in his room at Lord Timbolt's mansion. Judging from the bright sunlight coming through the window, it had to be well past noon. He could not believe that he had slept for several hours, just after breakfast at that. The party must have left without him.

Shifting and sitting up, Peter remembered what happened before he fell asleep.

I will bring your brother to you, the soft rumbling of the Great Cat's voice still rang in his ears.

Peter stretched. He felt more rested and refreshed than ever since he left Cair and his dear sisters. A small part of him worried about missing the trip, but he soon quieted the thought. Aslan would not have allowed him to sleep in and miss it if his brother was at the destination the investigation party was heading to. He would trust His promise of help, regardless of his anxiety-prone mind.

Having reached this conclusion, Peter refocused his attention to the strange boy in his room.

The intruder was donning plain clothes, signaling that he was some sort of a servant-boy. He lightly frowned when he saw Rhindon lying on the floor next to him. Then he saw the boy trying to reach the bow, which hung just a bit too high for him, and realized that he must be here to tend to his weapons. But he had cleaned them all last night before he went to bed, for he liked to do simple chores by himself. Even after being a king for four years, he never really wanted to be like royals or nobles from other countries who were so used to have every little thing done for them by others.

Peter stood up silently and watched the boy's struggle for a while, bemused. He reminded him of his brother, who was never happy at being shorter than most other men due to his unfinished growth process.

Unable to help himself, Peter chuckled in amusement.

"I have cleaned all my weapons myself. You don't need to clean them for me," He called out to the boy, deciding to end his rather pointless suffering to retrieve the bow that was not even in a need of tending to.

The boy stiffened, for a reason Peter could not automatically grasp. His outfit suggested that he was most likely one of the lowest servants of the mansion. But surely he was not punished when he was merely seen? He knew that in Archenland, servants – ranging from butlers and ladies-in-waiting in fine clothes to cooks and servants who did manual labor hidden from the public view – were treated very differently depending on their status. Although nowhere as atrocious as the slavery system in Calormen, such deferential treatment always irked him and his siblings.

If the nobles are not so keen on seeing servants in ragged clothing, they should provide them with better things to wear, Peter thought with righteous fury.

But whatever he was thinking soon came to an abrupt end as the boy turned around to face him.

When the curious brown eyes gazed at him through the shaggy bang of dark curls, Peter froze.

He could not believe his eyes.

So many emotions – happiness, surprise, disbelief, gratitude, excitement, and countless more – engulfed him all at once, and all he could do for a long moment was to stare at him in utter shock.

"Ed?" Light tremor sweeping through his entire body, Peter chocked out the one word that he had been aching to say for such a long time.

He couldn't hold off anymore.

Peter ran, and in an instant had the boy crashed against his chest heaving with relief and joy.

"Oh, Edmund!" Peter cried, his eyes burning fiercely with tears that were about to brim over and pour down his cheeks.

It was then that he noticed the boy was bewilderedly trying to wriggle himself out of the tight embrace.

Surprised that he might be hurting his brother, Peter unwound his arms. As soon as he had done it, the boy darted away and stood good five feet away from him.

Hurt and confusion written all across his face, Peter could do nothing but look at him worriedly. Did he do something wrong, other than the obvious mistake of letting him go on the campaign by himself? Was Edmund hurt? Was he angry that it took him so long to find him?

"Edmund?" Peter called out again, this time more cautiously and his voice shaky with suppressed panic.

"I'm-I'm not him, my Lord," the boy answered, "I'm Muddy, a servant of Lord Timbolt. I'm deeply sorry that I disturbed your rest. I-I should get going now."

"What? Of course you are Edmund!" Peter shouted, his previous wariness long forgotten at the unexpected words. How could he not be his brother? Sure he looked shaggier and filthier than the last time he saw him in his glittering battle-ware, but there was no way he would mistake him.

The unruly dark curls, piercingly bright eyes, pale, freckled face, the distinctive gait, and even the warmth he felt during the brief embrace all screamed out the identity of this boy in front of him.

Peter recognized his voice. He recognized his looks. What more proof did he need? And why was he denying himself?

"You must be mistaken, my Lord," the boy answered, looking distinctively uncomfortable.

And what was this whole business with "my Lord"? Surely he recognized his own brother?

"Don't you recognize me, Ed?" Peter asked, dreading the answer that he could somehow guess, although he desperately wanted it to be different.

"Not-not really, Sir. You are one of the royal investigators, right?"

Peter was stunned. "I'm your brother!" he shouted.

The boy stared at him in utter disbelief.

"Don't you remember? Don't you remember our sisters Lucy and Susan? Cair Paravel? Narnia? Philip? Oreius? …Me?" The last word stumbled out of Peter's mouth in a trembling whisper.

"N-No, Sir. I-I don't remember much beyond this past month," the boy said.

Peter felt his heart shattering into million pieces. He realized that this boy standing in front of him was like an empty vessel whose contents had all been washed away.

He was not King Edmund the Just but a lowly servant boy, frightened at being spotted during his chores.

Peter dropped to his knees.

Dear Aslan. What am I to do?

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Muddy briefly entertained the thought that this young noble was quite possibility out of his mind.

He was more than a little startled – frightened, if he was truly honest with himself – when the young man suddenly lunged forward and enveloped him in a fierce hug. Not to mention the subsequent madness about them being brothers.

The name Edmund sounded very nostalgic, like a long-forgotten childhood nickname, but that was it.

He couldn't possibly be related to this tanned, blond, sturdily built, and altogether noble being.

Just as he was desperately trying to make some sense out of this whole nonsense, the noble gathered himself from where he had fallen on the ground and stood up, trying to persuade him again.

" Edmund, you have to believe me. I'm your brother, Peter. Your family and subjects are waiting for you in Narnia," the noble, whose name now Muddy learned was Peter, pleaded, "Please, come with me. I'll talk to Lord Timbolt. Let's go home."

Muddy was confused. Family? His whole family was alive? Then why would they want him back? He was a traitor, the worse of its kind, for the Mane's sake!

…Perhaps they did not know yet of his betrayal?

Now Muddy was truly afraid.

He did not want to follow this person, this self-proclaimed brother, to his family who he had betrayed in such an appalling manner.

He did not deserve the longing and love that he could just feel pouring out from this young man, Peter.

Perhaps he was sent here by Aslan as a way to penance. To repent his sins at ever hurting the person Muddy could tell just from the short encounter was infinitely better and nobler than himself.

And more than anything, Muddy could not bear to even imagine what it would be like for Peter and his family – whoever they might be – to finally learn of his betrayal.

He could not follow him.

"No, good Sir. This is my home. I won't go with you," Muddy replied, bowing his head low.

"What? B-but-why? Please Edmund, come with me!" The utter distraught in the older boy's voice made Muddy cringe with guilt. But he knew he could not go with him, no matter what. Not with the past gnawing at him so.

Muddy racked his brains for some sort of plausible excuse.

"I-I don't have my memories, so I am more comfortable here, my Lord. All that I really know is here, and I don't want to leave," he managed to say at last.

Peter looked at him with such pain evident in his eyes. But after a long silence, he slowly nodded his head.

"I cannot and won't take away your comfort, Edmund. But can I-can I please wait here until you have your memories back? Please, Edmund?"

Even though Muddy knew he should not let Peter wait in vain – for he was sure that nothing could change his mind, as nothing could cleanse him of his sins – he could not say one simple word "no" to him.

Instead, he ended up mumbling, "Please call me Muddy, Sir," before he hastily retreated out of the room, the magnificent sword and still hanging bow long forgotten.

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As always, reviews are much appreciated ;)