I thought I'd follow that update up quickly, so here it is. The same disclaimers apply.

When his eyes opened the following morning, the sunlight did not help his throbbing headache. He blinked a couple of times and took a moment to check on his surroundings. He was in his room, on the bed, atop the covers. He didn't have a shirt on, but his jeans were still there. Whoever brought him up had the sense to remove his boots, at least. He sat up, which proved to be a bad decision, because his head began to spin. A minute after the awful head-spinning, he swung his legs off the bed, and shoved his feet into his bedroom slippers. Much to his surprise and anxious panic, he was not alone in his room—there was a girl in his bedroom.

Her hair was red, and spread out onto a new rug in rays from her head. He had to blink a couple of times to recognise her, and it was that girl with the funny name, Strawberry Fields.

She was clad in a white dress that probably reached her ankles if she was standing. The dress had no straps, and the skirt looked like it was made of layers upon layers of white netting. The ring of emeralds on her finger sparkled. She didn't have a coronet of ivies near her head. He turned to his bed, and true enough, the coronet hung from one of the bed frame's posts. He blinked, attempting to recall the events of the night before. He blinked again—his effort was unsuccessful. His laptop was on the desk, and he got an idea. He skirted past Strawberry and made his way over. He turned on the laptop and waited for clarity to come by way of proof.

Someone had made a video and saved it on the desktop. He cringed in advance, anticipating highly embarrassing antics on his part.

-:-|-:-

"My name is Edmund Pevensie and this is Strawberry Fields."

In the video, he still has that eggplant-coloured shirt on. He hates that shirt. He hates that colour. He knows that the only reason he wore it the night before was for him to be identified. He doesn't like purple. He blinks, focussing on the task at hand.

"Hi, I'm Strawberry." He has one arm slung over Strawberry's bare shoulders in the video, and he is dazedly looking into the camera lens. He decides that he was drunk while they took the video—or that he was high.

"She's cute and fifteen." Strawberry's laugh crackles over the speakers. He doesn't really think much of anything as he watches, but then the next thing he does in the video makes him sick.

"You are fifteen going on sixteen—oh fuck; I dunno what comes after that." Video-Strawberry laughs again.

"He's sweet and sixteen." His Video-Self makes a face at the camera and then grins at Video-Strawberry. Video-Strawberry lowers her lashes, and then out of nowhere, they kiss. He cringes. They are kissing in the video; actually, after a minute or two, it turns into snogging. It isn't a very pretty sight, two teenagers going at each other like their faces are made of food and they have each been starved to the brink of death. He shudders.

His Video-Self has the sense to stop recording, and the video is over.

-:-|-:-

He shut off the laptop and absently prepared a change of clothes and clean underwear, the only thing on his mind being aspirin. He ignored the redhead on the unfamiliar rug in his bedroom the entire time, taking his towel and stripping off in the bathroom to ready for a shower. He took the clean vestments into the bathroom, closing the lid on the toilet and placing the pile of clothes atop the cover. He shut the door. He took a bath, scrubbing everywhere. When he finished, he dried himself off as best as he could (considering the space), and dressed. He left his soiled things hanging on the shower curtain rail and left the bathroom in total silence.

He knelt near Strawberry's head and tapped her on the shoulder. Strawberry blinked in response to the light, saw him outlined in the light, and shot up. He jumped back fast enough that he wasn't hit by her head. "Good morning," he managed to say. "What happened?" Strawberry put a hand to her mouth, so this sentence was muffled. "There was a party after the Conference meeting, the Dryads hosted it in the forest, and we went. We didn't go together, but I have no idea how you got here," he responded, standing to find sunglasses. He found a pair that had been Peter's and slipped the aviators on. "Oh, erm, OK—I'll go back to my room, thank you for letting me stay here, I suppose," Strawberry stood and left. He nodded in acknowledgment of her thanks, which weren't even warranted considering the fact that he didn't actually let her stay the night.

He left the room, with the intention of going to the cafeteria. He needed to eat. He made his way down the stairs and walked to the main building, where the cafeteria was on the basement floor. The door in the ground that led into the cafeteria was thrown wide open, and the familiar buzz of conversation drifted out.
He descended the steps, and the buzz grew louder in his ears. What a way to help the hangover, Edmund Pevensie. You know just what to do to help yourself heal.

"Edmund," called a girl's voice that he recognised to be Fiera's. Caspian's girlfriend walked over to him, dressed in an overlong black T-shirt, black tights, and those Jack Purcell sneakers he saw on all those American girls. "Where's Caspian?" he asked, which sounded soft even to his own ears. "He went off-campus to get fresh things for this hangover cure that his aunt taught him in Spain," responded Fiera, equally as quietly. "We aren't by any chance going to get any of that, are we?" he asked, involuntarily making a face. He didn't know what Caspian could have possibly learned in Spain to cure a hangover, but he had an inkling, even in his headache-induced stupor, that it wouldn't taste very good. "He's making it especially for you, Edmund darling," a smile lazily spread across Fiera's face, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He stiffened. "What?" asked Fiera. She had probably sensed his sudden discomfort. "Nothing," he replied.

Fiera's brow was creased when she asked him, "Am I making you uncomfortable, Edmund?" he shook his head, which proved to be a horrible thing to do, because it made his headache worse. "Do you want anything to eat? I was here to get breakfast, why don't you come with me?" Fiera put a gentle hand on his forearm. He sighed, "OK." Fiera linked an arm through his and stroked the back of his hand as she spoke, "I think a fruit breakfast will do you good. From what I've heard about you, I think it would do more than just sate your hunger." Fiera led him around the cafeteria, looking at the wares the kiosks lining the walls were peddling. The tail end of his sentence made him narrow his eyes at her. "What have you heard about me?" he asked. "I did some asking around," Fiera began, "and I heard that you were quite something at your old school in Finchley." He shrugged, "Somebody had to fill the position at some point, so I did."

"Don't be full of it," Fiera playfully hit him on the arm, "I must admit, your brother was far too nice for my tastes." He raised a brow at her, "I bet you fancied him because of that whole High King Peter thing." Fiera shook her head, "He was a ponce." He blinked, "What made you say that?" Fiera led him to the fruit kiosk and asked the concessionaire for two apples before responding in a matter-of-fact manner, "He and Caspian had so much chemistry I thought I would have to bottle it up and sell it to bickering married couples." He laughed, "Peter isn't gay." Fiera granted him a look that seemed to say, do you expect me to believe you?

He shrugged, and Fiera broke into a smile. "Let's have breakfast, Ed."

—TBC—