I wish I had words to describe how grateful I am to all of you. You have been an incredible audience! Your sweet, encouraging, and enthusiastic reviews have consistently brought a huge grin to my face-they have literally been the highlight of the past few weeks for me! This fic was my first in the fandom and the response has been overwhelmingly positive so I hope to continue writing in it. I tried several things I hadn't before as an author, went a little outside my usual writing box, challenged myself, and ended up with the longest word count I've ever had on a single project. And you have been a part of it! So please enjoy this last chapter and have a very Merry Christmas and a wonderfully Happy New Year! :D

(okay, enough rambling SolarRose, just let them get to the chapter)

Peter stepped over to the table where he had been sitting to fetch Edmund a drink. As he did, his foot knocked against something that scraped metallically against the floor. He retrieved the object, the dagger the Wraith had attempted to stick in his back. He raised an eyebrow as he recognized the distinctively curved blade as Calormen craftsmanship. After handing a goblet of wine to Edmund with one hand, Peter showed him the knife in the other. Edmund's eyebrows furrowed over the edge of the cup. The Calormen delegation had not yet left the room and Peter turned his body so that he faced them, putting the dagger in plain view.

"I say, Edmund, but this is a rather odd weapon for a follower of the Witch to have, isn't it?" he asked in a loud voice, surreptitiously watching the foreign dignitaries for a reaction. "It appears to be Calormen in design, does it not?"

The Calormenes plastered expressions of bewildered innocence to their faces, except for Khasis, who didn't bother to hide his sullenness. They avoided looking in his direction, pretended they couldn't hear his pointed inquiries, and strolled from the room with as much subtlety as a Rhino in a Beaver's dam. Peter's fist clenched around the hilt of the dagger but Edmund's hand on his arm eased the tension thrumming through his body.

"Let it go, Peter. We can't prove anything," Edmund murmured.

Peter pursed his lips.

"And I don't feel like arguing with them right now," Edmund added tiredly.

His weary tone convinced Peter to set the matter aside. He focused all his attention instead on visually assessing Edmund. The younger king looked terrible. The remnants of a black eye lent a purple shadow to one eye, and a dark scab crowned his right cheekbone. Lines of fatigue cut grooves beneath his eyes and across his brow, his face was smudged with dirt, and his whole front was saturated with blood.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up," Peter said softly, using a gentle hand on Edmund's shoulder blade to steer him to the door.

"So those are the Calormenes then?" Edmund said as the kings walked to Peter's rooms.

Peter merely hummed in agreement.

"I've only been gone a few days and I'm already behind in matters of the court," Edmund joked.

Peter's steps slowed. Edmund noticed and glanced sideways at him. Peter flashed him an unconvincing smile before resuming his normal pace.

"Alright, what's wrong?" Edmund asked, stopping in the hallway.

"It's nothing," Peter denied.

Edmund crossed his arms. "I don't know why you bother doing that. It never works."

"Do what?" Peter asked, pausing at the end of the corridor.

"That," Edmund said, exasperated. "Pretending you're fine."

Peter sighed, shoulders lowering. "Can we talk about it later?"

"Later as in never?" Edmund asked, raising a mistrustful eyebrow.

"As in when we're not standing in the middle of the hallway, covered in blood," Peter corrected.

Edmund dropped his head to apprise his appearance. "That's probably a good idea," he agreed.

Peter nodded and led the way. When they arrived, they found a basin of hot water and a stack of washcloths prepared for them, as well as fresh changes of clothes. Peter knew he had Susan to thank for the provisions, in addition to the privacy they had. It was a relief to be alone in the room, without well-meaning servants interfering, and adding the pressure of maintaining their kingly posture. Opportunities to simply be brothers, without filtering their actions and words, were rare and Peter intended to make the most of this one. He dipped a rag into the warm water, wrung it out and passed it to Edmund. It was gratefully received and put to good use evicting the dirt that had taken up residence on his face for the past few days. With a troubled expression, Peter plunged his hands into the basin, submerging them in the clear water. He scrubbed viciously at them, releasing clouds of red that swirled through the liquid, dying it a pale pink.

"You know, I should probably apologize to Luna," Edmund said suddenly.

"Luna?" Peter repeated, confused. "The Doe?"

"Yes. If she hadn't been escorting me here, she wouldn't have been late for the feast. I'm afraid I rather slowed her down," Edmund explained.

"And if you hadn't, the feast would have ended very differently," Peter countered.

Edmund glanced away, fiddling with the now grimmy washcloth. Picking up a towel, Peter dried his hands, using the action to gather his courage for what he was about to say.

"Edmund-" he began, then stopped abruptly when Edmund's head shot up to stare at him. Swallowing around the large lump in his throat, Peter started over. "Thank you, Edmund."

"For what?" Edmund asked, brows furrowing.

"You saved my life tonight," Peter said softly.

Edmund's eyes skittered away and he cleared his throat. "There's also a pair of Mice I really ought to find. They should be rewarded for their help."

Peter stepped closer. "I'm serious, Ed. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. You saved me. Again."

Edmund had to look away from the intensity of emotion in Peter's gaze. He shrugged, dislodging Peter's hands. "It's what anyone would have done."

"Yet you always seem to be the first one to do it," Peter countered. "And I want you to stop."

That grabbed Edmund's attention. "What?"

"I mean it. You can't keep putting yourself in harm's way-" Peter began.

"Oh. You mean the harm's way that you're in?" Edmund interrupted.

"It's reckless and foolish-" Peter talked over him.

"Really? Those are the words you're using?" Edmund raised his voice.

"-and irresponsible-"

"-that's rich coming from you-"

"One of these days it might just get you killed-"

"Better me than you!"

Peter grabbed Edmund by the shoulders, grip painfully tight, and shook him roughly. "Don't say that! Don't you ever say that!"

Edmund didn't resist, submissive to Peter's manhandling. "Narnia needs her high king more than she could ever need her other one," he argued with resignation.

"That's not true!" Peter shouted. "Aslan crowned all four of us. We are equals."

Edmund shook his head. "High king over all kings. That's you, Peter. It is my greatest joy and my highest honor to serve under you," he said. "Which means it's my duty to protect you, no matter the cost," he added with conviction.

Peter dropped his hands and spun away from him. For a moment, he stood rigid. Then he planted closed fists on the table, rattling the contents. A couple drops of pink water splashed out of the basin. Peter's head sunk low and his breath came in harsh pants.

"Peter…" Edmund sighed.

"That was meant to be my job," Peter said in a quiet voice.

Edmund wisely stayed silent. Finally, Peter turned to face him, the vibrant blue of his eyes faded to gray with dejection.

"I made a promise. And I've done nothing but make a hash of it since we came to Narnia," Peter revealed despondently. "I'm supposed to keep you three safe."

"Maybe before, in London. But this is Narnia," Edmund said. "You have a new purpose now. Instead of just our family, now you have to take care of a whole country. That's a huge responsibility. Let me help by keeping you alive to do it."

Clamping his jaw shut, Peter mutely shook his head.

Recognizing the sign of stubbornness, Edmund chose not to press the issue. He resumed the task of making himself presentable. The events of the last hour had rendered his appearance inappropriate for public viewing and he wanted to rectify the situation. For, though the Wraith had occupied his thoughts for the greater part of the past week, he remembered what holiday it was. He had been unable to participate in the activities leading up to the Feast, but he still wished to celebrate the occasion nonetheless. As he stretched his arms over his head, tugging his soiled tunic off, the freshly healed muscles protested, punishing him with a cramp. He grunted, doubling over as the fit swallowed him. Then there were gentle hands pulling his shirt off, and massaging the seizing muscles until the pain eased. Surprised, Edmund met Peter's teary eyes. Wordlessly, Peter fetched an unused cloth and tenderly wiped the dried blood away. Eventually, the only evidence of his nearly fatal wound was the white of the scars. Peter's fingertips slowly traced the lines across Edmund's abdomen. The three slashes ran perpendicular across his middle from the scar left by the Witch's wand. Edmund tilted his head to examine the collection.

"Is it just me or does it look like an 'E'?" he asked.

A small smile lifted the corner of Peter's lips.

"At least it'll be easier to remember my name," Edmund quipped, chuckling quietly.

Peter joined in, laugh just as subdued. He retrieved Edmund's clean tunic and assisted him as he put it on. Once Edmund was properly attired, Peter unbuckled his sword belt and took off his own stained shirt. The faint traces of amusement left his face and his next words were solemn.

"Ed, I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner that you were missing. I can't believe I thought that monster could have been you." Peter shuddered, even as he donned his new outfit.

Edmund considered the apology thoughtfully for a moment. "Dark magic is a tricky thing. It preys on your real desires. The more you want to believe something is true, the harder it is to spot the deceit. Trust me, I know that better than anyone."

Peter nodded once in appreciation of his words. "There were clues, though," he mentioned.

"Like what?" Edmund asked, curiosity piqued.

"You skipped breakfast, for one," Peter recounted with amusement.

Edmund gasped in faux offense. After laughing quietly at Edmund's antics, Peter's expression softened.

"I promise, from now on, I'll try not to be too overprotective of you," he said.

"We are all in Aslan's paws," Edmund reminded him. "Here," he stuck out his hand. "Let's shake on your promise though, shall we?"

Peter took the offered hand, then used the connection to pull Edmund closer, wrapping his other arm across his brother's shoulders. "I'm glad you're alright, Edmund," he whispered into his brother's dark hair.

Edmund closed his eyes and returned the embrace.

ChildofGod: Actually, who knows, Peter didn't eat all of it. Maybe there was some poison somewhere... And now all's well that ends well :) *squints at your signature* *wonders if it's actually legible* *takes sharpie and accidentally signs not only the book but your hand as well* Sorry! ;)

NarniaGirl: Thank you! I'm relieved it met your expectations! :D