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Peter stepped out of his tent into the pale Narnian morning, the cold air biting at his face. Across the camp, Susan and Lucy emerged from their own tent, rubbing sleep from their eyes. For a moment none of them spoke. The snow crunched softly beneath their feet.
Then Lucy froze.
Her eyes widened, and she pointed.
“Peter—Susan—look!”
They turned their heads together.
There, standing atop a low rock at the edge of camp, was Edmund.
Aslan stood beside him, the great lion’s golden mane stirring in the wind as he spoke quietly to the boy.
For a second, none of them moved.
Then Lucy screamed, her voice breaking with joy.
“Edmund!”
She ran toward him.
Peter’s hand shot out instinctively, catching her shoulder.
“Lucy—wait.”
She struggled against his grip.
“But Peter—it’s Edmund—he’s back!”
Peter didn’t answer. He just stared.
Aslan and Edmund were already walking toward them.
Edmund moved slowly. Too slowly.
But when they reached the three siblings, Aslan stopped. His great eyes rested on each of them in turn.
“I shall leave the four of you alone,” Aslan said gently.
Then he turned and walked away.
Edmund stood before them.
He was still wearing the same clothes he had entered Narnia with weeks ago. They hung loosely from his frame, stiff with dirt. His hair was greasy and unwashed, his face pale beneath the grime. There was a faint smell about him—cold, sickness, and neglect.
But his siblings didn’t notice.
They were too happy.
Lucy let out a small laugh of disbelief, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Edmund…”
Edmund tried to speak.
His lips parted.
But nothing came out.
Lucy couldn’t stop herself anymore. She rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
“I missed you so much!”
The moment she touched him, Edmund flinched violently.
He let out a silent gasp and squirmed in pain.
Lucy froze.
She pulled back immediately.
Her smile vanished.
Edmund stood trembling.
Susan stepped forward cautiously.
“Edmund… are you alright?”
He didn’t answer.
Susan’s voice softened.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “We’re not mad at you.”
Peter nodded quickly.
“We were never mad at you,” he added.
Edmund didn’t respond.
He just stared at them.
And that’s when it hit them.
Susan’s face went white.
Her voice trembled as she said it out loud.
“…He can’t talk.”
Lucy covered her mouth.
“No…”
Susan rushed forward suddenly.
“Edmund—”
Without asking, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it.
She gasped.
His ribs were visible beneath thin skin. Dark, ugly bruises spread across his chest and sides—black and purple and yellow, layered upon each other. Bruises in the shape of fingers. Bruises from blows.
He had been beaten.
All three of his siblings gasped.
Susan stumbled backward, her hands shaking.
“Oh my God…”
Lucy swayed where she stood, her face turning green. She gagged, covering her mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
Peter didn’t move.
He just stared.
His breathing stopped.
A horrible thought crept into his mind.
Did I cause this?
He walked forward slowly.
Then dropped to his knees in front of Edmund.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered.
Edmund stared at him.
Peter grabbed his shoulders gently.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, louder now. “Edmund, I’m sorry. I never should have said those things. I never should have let you go. I never should have—”
His voice broke.
“Please forgive me.”
Susan stepped forward, tears streaming down her face.
“I’m sorry too, Edmund.”
Lucy followed, crying openly now.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
Edmund stared hard at Peter.
Peter’s voice cracked completely.
“Please,” he begged. “Please forgive me.”
For a moment, Edmund didn’t move.
Then suddenly—
He collapsed forward into Peter’s arms.
And cried.
No words.
Just silent, broken sobs.
Peter wrapped his arms around him tightly.
“It’s alright,” Peter whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re at Aslan’s camp.”
Edmund trembled against him.
Peter held him tighter.
“From now on,” Peter whispered, “I’ll protect you. I promise. I’ll protect you.”
Edmund continued to cry into his shoulder.
Behind them, hooves approached.
Oreius passed nearby, stopping when he saw them.
Peter looked up.
“Oreius.”
The centaur bowed his head slightly.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
Peter swallowed.
“Prepare a bath,” he said quietly. “And bring some cake and tea.”
Oreius bowed deeply.
“At once.”
He turned and left.
Peter returned his attention to Edmund, still crying in his arms.
Peter shushed him softly.
“Shhh… it’s alright… it’s alright…”
He held him and rocked him gently.
And for the first time since Edmund had returned, Peter did not let go.
Later that day, Peter and Edmund stood together just outside the edge of Aslan’s camp. The sun was beginning to lower, casting everything in a soft gold that did nothing to warm the cold knot in Peter’s chest.
In front of them sat a wooden tub filled with steaming water. Beside it were a bottle of shampoo, a worn bar of soap, a wooden bucket, a folded towel, and a small stack of fresh clothes that looked far too large for Edmund’s now fragile body.
Peter cleared his throat.
“Alright,” he said gently. “Go on. Take your clothes off and get in.”
Edmund didn’t move.
He stood there stiffly, his thin arms hanging at his sides, his fingers twitching faintly as if unsure what they were supposed to do.
Peter forced a small smile.
“It’ll make you feel better,” he said. “Promise.”
Edmund shook his head.
It was small. Barely visible. But it was firm.
Peter frowned slightly.
“Ed,” he said softly. “Come on.”
Still nothing.
Peter shifted awkwardly.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he said quickly. “Not with me. I’ve seen you bathe a hundred times. Remember Finchley? Mum used to shout at us for using all the hot water.”
Edmund’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground.
And then it hit him.
Peter froze.
“Oh.”
The word slipped out of him quietly.
This wasn’t embarrassment.
This was fear.
This was shame.
This was a boy who had forgotten what it meant to feel safe.
Peter swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, more to himself than to Edmund.
He hesitated for only a moment before reaching for his own clothes.
He pulled his sweater over his head. Then his shirt. Then the rest, until he stood bare in the cold air.
He stepped into the tub.
The hot water made him flinch, but he forced himself to relax. He crouched down into it, wet his hair, and ran his hands through it like nothing was wrong.
He looked up at Edmund and smiled gently.
“See?” Peter said softly. “Not so bad.”
Edmund stood frozen.
He gulped.
Slowly, hesitantly, his shaking hands reached for his clothes.
Each movement looked difficult, like his body no longer trusted itself.
He peeled the fabric away from his skin piece by piece until he stood exposed, small and trembling.
Peter’s breath caught in his throat.
The bruises were worse than he remembered.
Dark.
Spreading.
Ugly.
His ribs showed too clearly beneath his pale skin.
Peter forced himself not to cry.
Edmund stepped forward.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He lowered himself into the tub.
The moment the water touched him, he tensed, his shoulders rising instinctively.
Peter pretended not to notice.
He reached for the bucket.
“Here,” Peter said softly.
He filled it with warm water and gently poured it over Edmund’s head.
Water ran down Edmund’s thin face, dripping from his chin.
Peter reached for the bottle.
He poured a small amount of shampoo into his hand.
He hesitated for only a second before gently working it into Edmund’s hair.
“I forgot how messy your hair gets,” Peter said quietly, trying to sound casual. “Susan used to complain she was the only one who brushed hers properly.”
He let out a soft, awkward laugh.
“You remember that?”
Edmund didn’t respond.
Peter kept going.
“We missed you,” he said quietly. “All of us.”
He swallowed.
“And it’s not your fault.”
His voice cracked slightly, but he kept his hands steady.
He reached for the soap.
Carefully. Gently. Slowly.
He washed Edmund’s shoulders.
His arms.
His back.
Every movement deliberate. Careful. Protective.
“We used to do this all the time,” Peter said softly. “Before… everything.”
He paused.
“You used to complain the water was too hot.”
He smiled faintly.
“You never liked baths.”
Edmund said nothing.
He just sat there, small and silent, letting Peter wash him.
Peter kept talking anyway.
About Finchley.
About Lucy.
About Susan.
About nothing.
Anything to fill the silence.
Anything to remind Edmund he wasn’t alone.
Anything to convince himself he hadn’t lost him completely.
Once they were both washed and dressed, the boys stepped away from the wooden tub and began walking back toward Aslan’s camp.
The air was colder now. Evening had begun to settle over the forest, and the golden light had turned soft and gray.
Peter walked beside Edmund at first, keeping his pace slow without making it obvious. Edmund’s clean clothes hung loosely on him, the sleeves slightly too long, the trousers gathered awkwardly at his thin ankles.
For a few moments, they walked in silence.
Then Peter noticed it.
Edmund’s steps were uneven.
Small.
Careful.
Like each one hurt.
Peter frowned.
He slowed even more, watching closely.
Edmund’s legs trembled slightly beneath him.
Peter’s stomach tightened.
“Ed?” Peter said gently.
Edmund stopped walking.
He didn’t look at Peter. He just stood there, breathing quietly.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked softly.
Edmund still couldn’t speak.
He hesitated, then slowly lifted one hand and pointed weakly to his legs.
Peter’s expression softened instantly.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Peter smiled.
Not out of amusement—but out of love.
He stepped closer.
“Well,” Peter said gently, his voice warm and familiar, slipping naturally into his big brotherly tone, “that won’t do, will it?”
Before Edmund could react, Peter carefully slipped one arm beneath Edmund’s knees and the other around his back.
“Up you go,” Peter murmured softly.
He lifted him easily.
Edmund tensed at first out of instinct—but then relaxed almost immediately, his small body settling naturally into Peter’s arms.
Like it had done a hundred times before.
Like it had always belonged there.
Peter adjusted his grip slightly to make sure Edmund was comfortable.
“There,” Peter said quietly. “That’s better.”
Edmund rested against his chest, his head just beneath Peter’s chin.
Peter could feel how light he was.
Too light.
Peter swallowed, but kept his face calm.
He began walking again toward the camp, carrying Edmund like he had when Edmund was small.
Like he should have done all along.
As they approached the tents, the sounds of camp slowly returned around them—the crackle of fire, distant voices, the quiet hum of life.
Edmund said nothing.
But he didn’t resist.
He just rested in Peter’s arms, safe.
And Peter held him tighter—not out of guilt this time, but out of certainty.
He wasn’t going to let him fall again.
The four Pevensie siblings sat together inside Peter’s tent—though now, without anyone saying it aloud, it had become Edmund’s tent too.
The air inside was warm compared to the cold outside. A lantern flickered softly beside them, casting gentle golden light across the canvas walls.
In front of them sat a large sponge cake, already cut into careful slices. Beside it rested a small pot of sugary tea and a single cup.
Only one cup.
Susan reached for the pot first.
Her hands were steady, though her face was not.
She poured the tea slowly, making sure not to spill a drop.
The steam rose gently into the air.
Then she set the pot down.
Carefully, she picked up one slice of cake.
She turned toward Edmund.
He sat between Peter and Lucy, small and quiet, his shoulders slightly hunched inward like he was trying to disappear.
Susan held the slice out to him.
“Here,” she said softly.
Edmund looked at the cake.
Then at Susan.
His lip trembled.
He shrank back slightly.
He raised one weak hand and made a small gesture—hesitant, fragile.
A refusal.
Not out of dislike.
Out of shame.
His fingers curled inward toward his chest, and he gave the smallest shake of his head.
The meaning was clear.
I don’t deserve it.
The gesture hit all three of them like a knife.
Lucy’s face fell instantly.
Susan froze.
Peter’s breath caught in his throat.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then Peter moved.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Edmund, pulling him gently against his chest.
“No,” Peter whispered firmly, his voice thick with emotion. “No, Ed.”
He held him tighter.
“You do.”
Edmund didn’t resist.
He just sat there, trembling.
Susan stepped closer.
She looked at the slice in her hand.
Then, without saying a word, she broke off a very small piece.
Smaller than before.
Something manageable.
Something safe.
She held it gently to Edmund’s mouth.
“It’s alright,” she said softly. “Just a little.”
Edmund hesitated.
His breathing became uneven.
His eyes filled with tears.
Slowly—carefully—he opened his mouth.
Susan placed the small piece inside.
He chewed slowly.
Like it hurt.
Like swallowing itself was something he had to relearn.
Susan broke off another small piece.
And another.
She fed him patiently, piece by piece, never rushing him.
Lucy sat close beside him, watching carefully, her small hand resting gently on his arm.
Peter stayed behind him, one arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders.
By the time the slice was gone, Edmund’s breathing had become ragged.
His face twisted.
And suddenly—
He broke.
Tears spilled down his face.
Silent at first.
Then his shoulders began to shake.
He cried openly now, still unable to speak.
Peter pulled him closer.
“It’s alright,” Peter whispered, over and over. “It’s alright, Ed. You’re safe now.”
Lucy leaned closer too.
“You’re safe,” she echoed softly.
Susan didn’t stop.
She picked up another slice.
She broke it into small pieces again.
And gently, patiently, she continued feeding him.
Not because he was weak.
But because he was theirs.
And they weren’t letting him disappear again.