Author's Note: This story contains spoilers for my other story, "Counted Among the Traitors." If you haven't read that one, this one probably won't make much sense. If you have read that one, then read on.

The day after their late night discussion in "Amity," Peter and Edmund have one more thing to work out.

Disclaimer: Edmund and Peter Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

CLARITY

"I don't think this is a good idea, Peter." Edmund settled his brother's arm a little more securely around his shoulders. "Two days ago, I thought you were going to die."

"That was two days ago. Now I'm sure that, if I don't get out of this bed at least for a little while, I will die."

Edmund rolled his eyes at the helpless pleading in his brother's blue ones. "You're as bad as Lucy, you know. Worse."

Peter stuck out his lower lip in a perfect imitation of their baby sister's pout and then burst out laughing, giving his brother an unexpected hug.

"How good it is to have you grumbling at me again, Ed."

"Get off, blockhead."

"No." Peter clasped his hands, keeping both arms around Edmund's neck. "You're going to help me stand up and get dressed."

Edmund shook his head. "I'm going to help you stand up. I'm going to help you into your slippers and your warmest dressing gown. I'm going to help you walk out onto the balcony and take the air for maybe five minutes, and then I'm going to help you get back into bed before Susan catches us and we get the scolding of our lives."

"She won't scold," Peter assured him. "She's too happy to have you back home. Besides, she and Lucy are napping. They both had a pretty rough time of it while you were gone." He looked into Edmund's eyes, his expression suddenly solemn. "Edmund–"

Edmund wanted desperately to hug him again, to reassure himself that Peter was alive and no longer in danger, to reassure himself that there were no more doubts between them. No doubts of trust. Of loyalty. Of love.

Instead he put on another scowl. "Do not apologize again, Peter. I mean it. We went through all that last night. Now come on."

He stood up, hauling Peter up with him, shocked again at how easy he was to lift and how his nightshirt swallowed up his too-thin frame. Oreius would have some work to do to get the High King back into fighting trim.

Peter steadied himself against him and then bit back a little gasp of pain.

Edmund started to lower him back onto the bed. "I knew this was a bad idea."

Peter shook his head. "No, it's all right. I just shouldn't have tried to hold on with my bad hand."

Edmund growled low in his throat and made him sit down. "Let me see. You didn't tear your stitches out, did you?"

This time it was Peter who rolled his eyes. "No, Mum."

Edmund only glared at him and then turned his attention to the hand in question, trying to peer under the bandage without actually removing it. He winced, seeing the deep cuts in Peter's palm and fingers, red and puckered around the stiff black stitches, hot to the touch. But they were healing, and nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

"Satisfied?" Peter asked. "Can we proceed now?"

"Just be careful, okay?"

Edmund put Peter's arm around his shoulders again and then slipped his own arm around Peter's waist. So thin.

"Are you sure you're–"

Peter sighed. "I have you to thank for saving my reason, brother mine, but that does not mean you're allowed to drive me out of it."

Edmund smirked and stood again, bringing Peter with him, and they walked carefully to the grand wardrobe of the High King.

"Now." Peter swung the heavy door open. "My breeches."

"Your dressing gown," Edmund corrected, finding the one that looked to be the warmest, a quilted floor-length robe of forest green.

"And my boots," Peter continued.

"Your slippers," Edmund countered.

Peter steadied himself against the open wardrobe door while Edmund tossed aside a jumble of boots and belts and other sundries that lay in the bottom of the wardrobe until he finally uncovered a pair of brown corduroy slippers. He couldn't remember ever seeing Peter wearing them except on the Christmas morning Susan gave them to him.

"I hate slippers," Peter whined. "They make me feel like an invalid."

"You are an invalid. Now is it slippers or back to bed?"

With a petulant huff, Peter thrust his feet into the slippers and then let Edmund put the dressing gown on him. It, too, swallowed him up, and Edmund chuckled.

"What?" Peter demanded.

"I was just thinking of all those times you laughed at me because Susan didn't think I ate enough. I think I'll rather enjoy watching her hovering over your meals for the next few weeks."

"I'm not skinny," Peter said, a glint of humor in his eyes. "I'm wiry. Athletic. Lean."

Edmund tried his best to look stern, but ended up laughing anyway. "Come on before I suddenly grow rational and make you lie down again."

He put Peter's arm around his shoulders once more and helped him out onto the balcony. It had snowed in the night, but now the sun was shining its winter best and, in the shelter of the castle wall, it was really quite pleasant out.

Peter closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, breathing deeply of the fresh, cold air and then releasing it with a sigh of pleasure. "Thank you, Ed. I was about to go mad in there."

Edmund looked him over critically. There was a healthy touch of color in Peter's face now, and the pure bliss in his expression was well worth Susan's potential wrath. Edmund laughed suddenly.

"What?" Peter asked, opening his eyes again.

"I dunno. I was thinking of the look on Susan's face that time a couple of months after our coronation when she found us hanging upside down from Lucy's balcony, just with our feet wedged between the railings. I don't think anything we could ever do would top the scolding we got that day."

Peter laughed until he had to cough, and then he leaned on his own marble railing. "We used to be rather indestructible, didn't we?"

They looked at each other, sobering, and Edmund knew they both had the same thought: How close I came to losing you just now.

Edmund turned and looked out over the snowy landscape, not really seeing it. "Peter? Are we . . . are we all right? I mean, is everything okay between you and me now?"

Peter looked puzzled. "How could you even ask that? Mane and whiskers, Ed, after what you did for Narnia? For me? How could you even–"

"I just–" Edmund glanced helplessly at his brother and then looked away again. "That– that letter. The one that was supposed to be from Ekrem Tarkaan. It–" He turned to Peter again, pleading. "I swear I had nothing to do with it. Whoever wrote it, I don't know how he knew what the Tarkaan said to you when we were in Tashbaan, but I never told. I never said a word to anyone. I–"

He was startled, a little hurt, when Peter started to laugh.

"Is that what's bothering you, Ed?"

Edmund's face was suddenly hot in the wintry air, and he looked at his boots. "I just . . . I know I was the only one you ever mentioned it to, what he said to you. I didn't want you to think–"

"Edmund."

Edmund didn't look up. "I just–"

"Eddie." Peter pulled him into a sturdy hug, still chuckling. "I know you didn't. I know I can trust you with anything. Never think any different."

"But if you never told anyone but me, and I never told–"

Peter shook his head. "You know, I thought about that. Once I was able to think again, I mean. Come on, Ed, how much more obvious could it be? Gilfrey was in league with Calormen. About the ships at least, maybe more. Who must have known about my conversation with the Tarkaan but the Tarkaan himself?"

Edmund blinked. "That, uh, is rather obvious, isn't it?"

"And you're supposed to be the clever one."

Edmund smirked. "Not too clever, evidently."

"You might have had another thing or two on your mind lately." Peter's smile was warm. "Anything else bothering you?"

Edmund shook his head. "I'm just– " There was a tell-tale thickness in his voice. "I'm just glad."

"Peter William Pevensie, what are you doing out of bed?"

"What did you say about Susan not scolding?" Edmund asked under his breath, and Peter looked at him, blue eyes wide.

Susan hurried out onto the balcony, chiding and fussing and coddling as she helped Peter back inside. And Edmund smiled, watching them.

I'm just glad to be home.

Another Author's Note: This is just a bit more sibling fluff and a little more explanation of what happened in "Counted Among the Traitors." Not that it was needed, but I was rather missing the boys and wanted to play in Narnia even though I should be working. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to quit now. :D

–WD