Chapter Text
Talk of the Pevensie boys had rattled through Hendon House right from the start of the school year. The whispers had come from the students first, but by mid-winter, even their instructors would comment on the differences they’d seen in the boys’ character.
They chalked it up to the war—children came back changed from the country, after all. It was something to do with the time away from family and the strange distance from the war they could not truly escape. Peter had become a man, they said, restless for the need to do something for his country. And Edmund? They felt he had been young enough when he went away that he’d simply grown out of his childishness.
But the other boys—boys who had also gone to the country and came back just the same—didn’t understand. Instead, they found something dark lurking in the boys that made them curious, and a bit uneasy.
The difference was easier to see with Edmund. He was quieter and calmer now, hardly ever raising his voice. His even, pleasant tone followed him from the classroom to the schoolyard as he took to standing against his former friends when they tried to take things too far against the younger boys. He had a strange air about him in the way he walked around with his head held up, as though he had nothing to hide.
It took the first frost of winter for the sharpness of his eyes to drip into the dark circles that formed underneath. But if there was anything more curious than Edmund and the secrets that caused him to scream himself awake at night, it was his brother.
The change in Peter’s demeanor came more slowly, and for months, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what it was about the older boy that seemed odd. He had always been amicable, and the adults considered him a natural born leader—a proper example for the other boys.
But the boys knew better, and when word finally spread of the supposed golden boy engaging in all out fist fights in the gymnasium late one early-winter evening, boys from across school grounds gathered without question. They were eager to see him fall from the pedestal he’d been place upon, to forego whatever hidden authority it was he seemed to hold.
Edmund, for his part, had known early on in the school year that something of this nature was coming. That it had taken this long was actually a bit of a surprise. Peter had been on edge the entire summer after they’d fallen from that wardrobe, and his restlessness had only gotten worse after they’d come back to school. The first true sign came when, after Edmund declined to join his old friends as they thought to bully some of the new students, Peter stepped in to keep them from bullying Edmund instead. He’d always stood up to bullies before, but his new eagerness to get into fights now was a surprise to the others. He was suddenly a strong hand first, and a quick word later. Different from before, with his patience teetering on a hair’s edge.
Edmund had let it slide. Brushed off the insults that came from ignorant boys and moved on. Neither he, nor Peter, had mentioned it since. There was nothing for them to say to one another that they did not already know, that had not already been said—in this life or the other. And the situation only grew worse as the cold settled in. For the both of them, though Peter’s stiffness was quieter than Edmund. The other boys couldn’t know. They wouldn’t understand even if they were told. All they could grasp was the gossip that spread when muffled screams began to wake the boys in Edmund’s hall each night. Worse yet were the whispers that spread about his softer, mid-dream murmurs. Names of places and people the other boys in his hall could never know. Pleas and desperate wishes that slipped past his otherwise tight lips in the dead of night when winter's grip was strongest.
The younger boys at Hendon House weren't sure what to make of Edmund—he was quieter except when the world softened into winter; he was kinder except when he found the unspoken rules and regulations of the play yard or classroom unfair; he was all rough edges and sharp looks except when he sat to play chess with some of the other boys and could be caught sneaking curious, softer glances at his opponents. The last of these was most puzzling to his former friends, who found the tentative smiles and glassy eyes suddenly quite questionable and strange for someone who had been so as bitter and angry as them. It was unnatural, and it took just a few weeks for all the other boys to agree.
Peter asked him, then, why he never set the rumors on their head, to defend his character against the lies. Edmund was more than capable now with his silver tongue and sharp wit. But he had never felt it necessary to defend himself against anything that was not harmful. It would be a waste of energy, he’d replied, when Peter wondered how he wasn’t angry.
But Edmund was angry.
Leaving his home had made him angry. Returning to version of himself that knew nothing but bitterness made him angry. And having to watch Peter fight in such pointless brawls made Edmund angry.
It was the third night this week, and hardly anything had changed over the course of these fights. There was no honor in them. Certainly none in the three boys who ganged up on Peter tonight, and possibly not even in his brother either, at this point—though Edmund didn’t dare to ruminate on that though for too long, else he would lose all sense of restraint and join the fight himself.
The whole school would run wild with speculation, then, he was sure of it. Edmund knew they already wondered why he hadn’t stepped in. He’d gained a reputation of stopping fights as of late, when necessary, and this was his brother. Surely he cared more about thesefights than the schoolyard scuffles he routinely interrupted. But three things kept Edmund in the shadows, watching quietly.
The first two were connected, of course, because they lay with Peter more than they did Edmund. Peter was a king, accustomed to fighting his own battles, just as Edmund was, and he would not lend a hand unless it was requested. Certainly not in front of a group like this. Edmund refused to add bruises to his brother’s ego, refused to add insult to injury, because Peter was hurting enough already, no matter what he claimed to fighting for—it certainly wasn’t for Edmund’s reputation alone that Peter continued to climb back onto his feet and raise his fists.
As reckless as he was, Peter wasn’t stupid, and neither was Edmund. This fight went beyond defending Edmund’s honor. Beyond setting the other boys straight about any rumors that might have gained traction about Edmund’s night time wailings, or his general demeanor and interactions with the other boys in his class. It had far more to do with Peter’s own frustrations than any of Edmund’s, and he remembered enough of his king’s wrath to know there was no talking to him in moments like this. Any physical exhaustion Peter felt would have to outweigh the anger first, and Edmund knew the boys he was fighting with would run out of energy long before that happened. Joining in the fight would not only be pointless, it would be worse for Peter in the long run, and Edmund couldn’t reasonably allow himself to do that.
The last concern was smaller in degree, if only for the fact that it lay in Edmund’s own shortcomings, and not Peter’s anger. He would toss it to the wind in a matter of seconds if the first two restrictions no longer applied, but knowing his brother, it wouldn’t come to that. Not tonight anyway, which was likely for the best. Selfishly, Edmund hoped Peter’s stubborn pride would hold for just awhile longer, until the end of the school year, perhaps. He thought he might be big enough then. The recent straining ache in his legs was already hinting at rapid growth to come, and he welcomed it eagerly. No matter how much boundless fury he held in his bones, his body was still that of a wretched child’s, lacking the years of endurance and muscle and size he had built up in his other life.
As he was now, Edmund worried that he may well do more harm than good by jumping into a fight with the body that knew only how to be a menace and not how to mend.
But if he could just be bigger, stronger…
Until then, Edmund had to settle for far less. Tonight, it meant letting the others around him whisper ignorantly amongst themselves. It meant focusing on the exchange of blows and tamping down his anger while Peter got to expel his. It meant wondering which of them would lose their resolve first in this battle of wills. And realizing, abruptly, that after having lost so much already, they were already losing again. The truth was, he and Peter would need clear minds and proper hope to win the fight they were facing.
Clarity and hope. There had been both in abundance—before, when their sisters stood at their sides without question.
All those years, Edmund must have taken it for granted. Because now, with both Susan and Lucy across the way at Saint Finbar's undoubtedly facing battles of their own, he wasn’t sure how long any of them would last.