Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to C. S. Lewis and Walden Media.

Author's Note: Frankly speaking, I'm blasted. But that's beside the point. I wanted to get this chapter out and hopefully will follow up soon with additional chapters to this and my other stories. With any luck, summer courses will allow me at least a little more free time to write. Please enjoy this chapter to its utmost!

Reviewers: Thank you so much for all your reviews! I know this scene is (again) rather different from its book and movie counterparts, but it rather took me over.

Rating: T

Summary: Edmund learns what it really means to love…(Book and Moviebased) (Brotherfic) (NO Slash)

"Speech"

/Personal Thoughts/

Quotes/Memories (Italics)

All Things Have Their Time

By Sentimental Star

Chapter Two: Can I Know, Or Will You Teach Me?

After much panicking and fussing by Rorin and Arrowwing, Edmund emerged from the tent some time later, cheeks scrubbed of tears and dressed in a fresh set of clothes. There, in the early morning light and the crisp air of spring, he stopped dead as the tent flap fell shut behind him. Across from the entrance to the medical tent, a tall, lanky form rose to their feet from where they had been sitting against a water barrel, wincing and rubbing at their legs.

For several endless seconds, the two merely stared at each other. Then Edmund's jaw dropped. "Peter?" he asked incredulously. "Have you been sitting there the entire night?"

His older brother sputtered out a thick, strangled laugh. "Nearly," he managed.

More staring. Utter incredulity covered Edmund's face, and the words hung unspoken between them, Why on earth would you do that?

Peter shrugged uncomfortably, turning away and scrubbing irritably at his cheeks.

Peter, Edmund realized with no small amount of shock, was—or had been—crying. Peter never cried, at least not where Edmund could see it. Now, though…his brother's blue eyes were swollen and his cheeks streaked red with tears.

Something in his chest twisted sharply, and Edmund gasped faintly at the unfamiliar sensation. He realized his fingers—his arms—were aching, aching for…aching for what? But Peter chose that moment to turn back to him, and he quite forgot about anything else except the bright flare of panic that shot through his body when Peter's fingertips reached out and shakily brushed away his bangs. The look in the older boy's eyes was agonized, "Ed," his older brother swallowed hard, "Ed, listen, can I…?"

All at once, Edmund realized that Peter desperately wanted to hug him, but didn't quite dare with the memory of rejection upon rejection branded onto his heart.

It had never been intentional, Edmund just didn't like touch. When someone hugged him—and Peter had often tried—his lungs seized up and he panicked, always finding it difficult to breathe. He could never say what, precisely, caused such a strong reaction or why, but he had come to fear it and so, attempted to avoid it at all costs.

But things had changed, and all throughout the long, cold hours he had spent in the Witch's dungeons, the one thing that had sustained him was imagining Peter's arms around him.

Reality, of course, was quite different from imagination. Edmund wasn't quite sure how he could fix the rift that he had let grow between them, or even if he should. He had no experience in matters such as this, and was frankly terrified of messing it up if he tried.

So he opened his mouth, a great deal of hesitation apparent on his face and not at all sure what would come out of it…when a throat cleared softly somewhere behind them.

Both Edmund and Peter spun to face a nearby ridge, Peter's hand flying to the sword at his hip. And then, Edmund forgot to breathe. For there—terrifying, majestic, huge—stood a Lion, framed by the red blaze of sunrise. "Edmund, Son of Adam."

It was a rumble, nearly a growl. Without asking, Edmund knew. This was, "Aslan," his voice quavered.

No one had ever told him that something could be so wonderful and terrible all at once.

Obeying the unmistakable summons, Edmund allowed his feet to carry him where he was meant to go, eyes never wavering from the Lion.

For all intents and purposes it should have been easy enough, but a panicked Peter, who had been separated from his younger brother a little too long (years, really), grabbed for him. "Edmund!"

The exclamation was wild—and pained. When Peter's hand seized his own, Edmund jerked around, terribly startled.

The look on his brother's face was not one he was used to seeing, or perhaps he had simply never looked close enough. The older boy's blue eyes were pleading with all he had, and Edmund swallowed thickly against the rather large lump currently lodged in his throat.

"Later," he promised tightly, his grip on his seesawing emotions tenuous at best, and giving his brother's fingers a hard squeeze.

IOIOIOIOIOI

He did not see his brother's face when he turned away. Did not notice Peter raising his trembling hand to his mouth or the older boy's shoulders jerk with repressed sobs as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He did not hear a frightened Susan, who had just emerged from the girls' tent with Lucy, demand to know what was wrong. He did not even hear Lucy's joyful shriek as she caught sight of his back heading away from them.

He had only eyes for Aslan, who had whisked around in front of him and now silently led the way up the ridge.

At various turns feeling nervous, frightened, and even fiercely glad, Edmund followed the Lion to a grassy knoll overlooking the sea.

Settling on his haunches, Aslan faced East, where the new sun was just breaking through the clouds. Edmund stood quietly in place, waiting for him to speak and wondering faintly if he were about to be, well, eaten or some other equally just punishment. The he wondered if the Lion might, at least, allow him to say good-bye to his siblings. He didn't fancy breaking another promise to Peter when so many had been broken already, but—

"I wish you would not think ill of me, Son of Adam," the statement was sudden, and a quiet rumble.

Edmund started. A slow flush worked its way across his cheeks and he suddenly felt rather foolish that he had thought such a thing at all. He barely managed to stammer out a coherent response, "I-I…that is, I'm sorry, it's just…I've never…" He took in a deep breath (not that it helped any) and finally repeated, rather miserably, "I'm sorry."

It felt so inadequate, so pathetic, in the face of what he had done. He had never felt so many forcefully contrary emotions in his life. He rather thought he was incapable of feeling, really. There was so much hurt in him, so much anger. He hated what he had been, what he had become—and yet knew he deserved every bit of it, and more.

"I wish you would not think ill of yourself, either."

That statement, so full of sadness and regret, startled Edmund so badly that his entire body jerked. His mind double- and triple-checked that statement before he was convinced he had heard it correctly.

His face went ashen. "What?" he choked. "After what I did? After what I was going to do? I'm a traitor, Aslan! A monster! How can I possibly think otherwise?"

Aslan finally turned to face him, his golden eyes deep wells of sorrow. "Do you wish forgiveness, Son of Adam?" he asked simply.

All the blood rushed to Edmund's head. Forgiveness? Did he wish forgiveness? A half-hysterical laugh bubbled up from his throat: "I don't even know how to ask," he choked.

He was utterly dazed in the next minute by the warm smile that broke out on the Lion's lips. "You just did," Aslan stated softly. His face was suffused with what could only be described as tenderness. "And I grant it to you gladly. Welcome home, my dear, dear child."

Edmund stared at the Lion a full two minutes before, with a strangled sort of keen, he sank to his knees and his hands flew up to clap over his mouth.

IOIOIOIOIOI

It was a while before Edmund became aware of Aslan's nose nudging insistently into his shoulder and felt the worried rumble that sounded more like a purr vibrate through his body. An errant sob was smothered in a sea of sweet-smelling gold.

He tensed up, expecting—and dreading—the all too familiar panic.

It never came. For one single instant, his entire being wavered and then stood still.

A second later, tears flooded down his cheeks.

Edmund would never remember how long he lay there, tangled in Aslan's mane. It was irrelevant in the overall scheme of things. That point was—he had. For the first time in living memory, he didn't shy away from physical touch.

No words, in any language, would be able to describe the relief he felt in the next few moments upon realizing that.

It took effort for Edmund to finally pull away some time later. But in his heart, as he knelt there in the dewy grass of morning—exhausted, shaken—a tentative seed of hope, even wonder, took root…and began to grow.

If…if he could accept this sort of affection, then…then perhaps…perhaps he was not so far gone as he had feared. And if he could feel this way with Aslan—

"As I love you, so your brother and your sisters love you, Edmund," the Lion informed him softly. "It is for that reason they show their affection the way they do. Yours can become one of the truest hearts I know, if you but give it a chance to flourish."

Edmund did not expect the stab of utter pain that shot through his heart at those words. "But how, Aslan?" his voice cracked. "How can I possibly achieve all that you say?" He huddled in on himself, hugging his hands under his arms as he shivered. His next statement was a broken whisper, "I'm not sure I've ever properly loved before."

He nearly started crying again when what could only be considered a smile graced Aslan's lips. "Then you must learn." The Lion leaned close and started nuzzling his cheek, his warm breath pattering against Edmund's face. "The first step of many," he rumbled solemnly as he drew away, "is to give your love in return."

At that moment, a young voice—sweet and high as a flute—sang out gaily, "Edmund!"

As he whipped around and caught sight of the girls, one on either side of Peter at the bottom of the ridge, Edmund froze.

IOIOIOIOIOI

For several unending minutes, he couldn't move. Then, Aslan gave him a firm nudge in his back (to which Edmund did his damnedest to hide his wince). "Go to them, Dear One. They have missed you."

Swallowing hard, Edmund nodded and slowly made his way down the cliff face towards his siblings, more than a little uncertain. He hardly knew how to approach this situation, unused to it as he was. Maybe at one time he would have merely apologized, and then slipped off, trying to make himself as scarce as possible for the next few days—out of everyone's hair ,out of everyone's thoughts.

But things had changed, and with Aslan's directive, "Yours can become one of the truest hearts I know, if you but give it a chance to flourish," echoing in his mind, Edmund took a deep breath and put purpose into his stride.

It did not take long for him to reach his brother and sisters. When he was about an arm's length from them, he stopped, stopped and watched them, gauging their reaction.

Peter he was fairly certain of already, the memory of the desperation on his brother's face all too fresh. And though his brother hid it well behind a blank mask (and since when had Peter ever hidden his feelings?), the trembling of his shoulders gave it away.

Lucy and Susan…he was not so certain about. His sisters had always been so forgiving, but this was more than simply hurt feelings. He had betrayed them, had nearly gotten them killed, for heaven's sake!

Helplessly, he held out his hands, looking from sibling to sibling. "I'm sorry," he whispered, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, and they began cascading down his cheeks.

/Aslan help me./

"I'm so sorry," he croaked.

There was about two seconds of dumbfounded silence from his siblings and then, Lucy shrieked. "Edmund!"

Before Edmund quite understood what was happening, he suddenly found his littlest sister barreling into his chest.

There was barely any time to react. He stiffened in shock, nearly shoved her away (and caught himself just in time), and hissed, as his back and ribs flared up painfully.

Startled, scared, Lucy jerked back, her lower lip quivering. For a horrible moment, Edmund thought she might start crying. Then she looked at his face—which was probably near-white at this point—and her eyes widened.

Without so much as a warning, and before Edmund could even protest, he abruptly found his jerkin being unclasped by small, somewhat clumsy fingers and the neck of his tunic being untied.

As the soft material was pushed aside, the white linen of his bandages was exposed. If possible, Lucy's eyes widened even more. This time when she pulled back, she really was crying. "Oh, Ed!" she exclaimed.

Completely embarrassed and more than little terrified, Edmund quickly crouched on one knee in front of his little sister. He knew Peter often talked to Lucy like this, and he hoped it would help her now. "Hey," he mumbled, awkwardly ruffling her hair. "It's okay. The Dryads and the Healers took care of it." He bit his lower lip when he noticed he'd made a bit of a mess of her hair.

Before he had even properly thought about it, his fingers began smoothing the auburn strands carefully back into place. His movements were clumsy, and uncertain. When Lucy's dark eyes widened yet again, he was sure it hadn't worked.

That is, until the next second when she burst into a flurry of tears and promptly attacked his neck, catching it in a near-stranglehold.

"Lu!" he gasped as her weight toppled the both of them to the ground.

Or would have, if Susan hadn't chosen that moment to catch him under his arm. He felt Lucy being gently pried off his neck, and glanced up just in time to see Peter carefully gather their little sister into his arms and balance her—all eight years of age that she was—on his hip. His brother caught him watching, and offered a crooked half-smile, before stepping back and allowing Susan to help Edmund to his feet.

He'd barely stood up when he found himself crushed in yet another embrace, hard enough to make him squeak. He hadn't thought Susan was quite that strong. Mortified, and more than a little uncomfortable, Edmund hesitantly patted his older sister's back. "'Lo, Su," he muttered.

Where she had buried her dark head in his shoulder, Susan gave a strangled laugh.

There was a thick chuckle from Peter's direction as his older brother took in his predicament. Unwrapping one arm from around Lucy, his brother stretched out his fingers to tuck a stray strand of ebony hair behind Edmund's ear. "Come on," another wet chuckle, "let's get you something to eat."

Had he been aware of it, Edmund would have felt Aslan's proud—somewhat sad—golden eyes on his back as the Lion watched the four siblings head off to the morning meal.

Tbc.