For His Name's Sake
by Lirulin

Disclaimer: Nothing in here belongs to me, it's all property of the great C. S. Lewis and Disney.

I've had the idea for this story in my head for two years now, and I've finally been able to write it. It's been inspired by a song that I love very much, and I've thought about it a lot, therefore I'm quite nervous about it now. The story was supposed to be a one-shot, but it's gotten completely away from me, turning out to have almost 30 handwritten pages. But it is finished. Oh, just as a side note, Peter's characterisation is movieverse, and the story ties in with the others I've written. But you don't need to read them to understand this (though feel free if you want to…). So, I hope you enjoy it!

Christmas Eve is in less than a week, and I almost can't believe it. Not that it's Christmas, which is not coming unexpected at all, but that it's been more than half a year since we returned from Narnia again. Time has flown by so unbelievably fast, and so much has happened that on some days I still have to pause in awe. We were in Narnia for only two weeks this time, but they've changed everything. Peter and I are now closer than ever which is a small miracle if I think about how far apart we had drifted in the year before. In hindsight, I have to say that everything seems to have happened for a reason, no matter how painful it was. "You don't have to understand Aslan, you just have to trust Him", as Lucy would say. She truly is the best little sister in the world, and I don't think I would have made it through the more difficult days without her nearly unwavering faith and her support, as well as Susan's constancy and her gentle voice of reason. But my big sister is a bit of a touchy subject at the moment. She's been with her new "friends" more and more often, and whenever we talk about Narnia, she's strangely silent. I think I'll have to speak to Peter and Lucy about this soon…

The scent of cinnamon reaches my nose, and I can hear Peter and Lucy laughing downstairs. They're trying to bake cookies – with the emphasis on trying, I don't really want to know what they're getting up to – and I have to smile. I've always loved Christmas time, it's truly a special season all of its own. I have so many fond memories of dark evenings in December spent sitting in the living room by the light of candles, singing carols and listening to Dad reading stories for us. The air was always filled with a kind of joyful anticipation, and the atmosphere was simply… glistening. I can't find another word for it. The year before we went to the professor's house however was simply horrible. Dad was away somewhere in France, I was completely devastated without being able to express it, and everyone was generally miserable. I don't like remembering this Christmas any more than the one last year, where Peter was so sullen and practically simmering with discontent that he left the room after the first verse of "Silent Night". It was Christmas Eve, supposed to be the most wonderful evening of the year, and I was feeling a cold that reminded me frighteningly of the White Witch. In that instant, when Peter stormed out, I couldn't help thinking that perhaps his whole behaviour was some kind of twisted, delayed vengeance that she now enacted. She was dead, but seemed to have still managed to break our family apart. But this year will be different, I know it, I can feel it. Although Dad is still in the field, the rest of us are truly together again. I'm looking forward to Christmas so much now because I can feel the warmth of a united family permeating the house once more. I just hope they'll all like their presents, shopping for Peter is a bother at the best of times, and Susan is very particular in her likes and dislikes. Only Lucy loves everything she receives.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite the door, and I step closer to take a look into my eyes. It's a somewhat strange sensation, the longer you look the more it appears as if you could fall into yourself at any moment. I lean closer still, and now everything is blurring together till all I'm aware of is a sea of dark brown. I wonder what others see when they look into my eyes, which are supposed to be the windows to my soul after all. Do my eyes reveal the happiness I now feel? Do they hold my past as well? The deeper I look, the clearer I find remnants of the sorrow and heartache that were my companions for far too long. It's amazing that my eyes seem to retain traces of the pain when the wounds that were inflicted on me have long healed. Even the scars have mostly vanished by now, but I do realise that the memories will most likely stay with me forever.

I turn away from the mirror and walk over to the window, leaning my forehead on the cool glass and watching the softly falling snow as it slowly spreads a white blanket over the world. It's a soothing view, tranquil and invoking a sense of muted stillness. But my thoughts are anything but calm all of a sudden. Perhaps I shouldn't have started this reminiscing about eyes and pain because now I can't stop anymore. In my mind's eye the snow turns into pelting rain that is drenching me to the bone. A cold rain that was nevertheless not able to even come close to the ice in my heart. And I can't help remembering the worst day of my life…

888

The day had fortunately been pretty relaxed so far which meant that Peter had not yet gotten into any fight, was a bit less tense and not barricading himself in his room. Compared to how irritable he had been during the past week, this development was very positive in Edmund's book. Of course, he was irritable and short-tempered most of the time, but even by his standards the last few days had been bad. Edmund had gotten used to a lot from Peter, but when his brother had snapped at Lucy, he had almost lost his composure. Lucy was the only one who still had some luck reaching Peter, of having more or less normal conversations with him, and she tried everything to integrate him in the family life. Therefore, Edmund was still quite angry when he thought about what had happened last Wednesday.

The look on Lucy's face had been absolutely heart-wrenching, and when she had fled the room he had wanted to punch Peter. As it was, they'd gotten into an intense shouting match that had resulted in Peter ignoring him for the next two days. Not that that was anything new… Later that night Lucy had stolen into his room, and he had not been able to do anything more than hold her while she cried. She had been so confused, not understanding at all what was happening with her big brother who had always been her protector, had always treated her lovingly and with respect, and she had been looking to Edmund for answers. But he had not had any; he was at a complete loss as well and could barely recognise 'Peter' in the stranger now inhabiting his brother's body. And Edmund couldn't help wondering if his best friend would ever come back. At the moment it looked very much impossible, and it cost him a lot of strength not to fall into either despair or overwhelming rage.

As Lucy had lain sobbing and trembling in his arms, he had for the first time in fifteen years – for he was still counting in Narnian time – felt the resentment that had been his constant companion before they had found Narnia. Who did his brother think he was, inflicting his bad mood on everyone, snarling at anyone who so much as looked at him in the wrong way and being generally cross all the time? And to upset Lucy… Peter knew how deeply she felt everything, how important her siblings were to her and how much she relied on the bonds between them. His words had been simply cruel, and even Edmund was still reeling from their impact, not to speak of Lucy. Wasn't Peter aware of how much all of them were missing Narnia – their kingdom, their home? He couldn't count the times that he and Susan and Lucy had been sitting in one of their rooms, wishing with all that they had to go back, trying to think of a way that it might be possible. On one memorable Saturday afternoon they had even been so desperate that they'd started knocking on the back of every wardrobe in the house.

But Peter seemed to be oblivious to all but his own distress (because that was what Edmund sometimes suspected to be behind his peevishness). He didn't appear to care whether he was alienating them or not. It was a complete mystery, but Edmund had trouble reading Peter anyway which was not something he had ever expected to experience. They had been so attuned to each other that they had been able to finish each other's sentences, had known what the other would say before he opened his mouth. Now Peter was a closed book to him, incomprehensible and completely unpredictable, for which the episode with Lucy was the best example.

When Peter had yelled at Lucy that she should've gone after the White Stag alone, that they all would've been better off then, Edmund had at first believed something to be wrong with his ears. Peter had never before spoken to their sweet little sister in such a manner, and it was so irrational that for a moment it seemed as if he had finally taken leave of his senses. Edmund had looked around, wondering if the earth had jumped off its axis or if they had perhaps fallen into a parallel universe, but Peter had just continued glowering at Lucy till she finally left and then had gone back to his book, at least until Edmund confronted him.

Lucy had been utterly devastated and nearly incoherent with grief later on, confessing to Edmund that Peter's sentiments had echoed the thoughts she had already had more than once, that she was now and then feeling such a crushing guilt for losing them their home that she could then barely breathe. And she had repeatedly asked him if he thought everything had really been her fault because she had insisted first on pursuing the White Stag and then on going further into the thicket behind the lantern. It had taken all of Edmund's considerable eloquence to console her, to make her see things clearly again and to convince her that it had never been her fault, that neither he nor Susan had ever entertained the notion of holding her responsible, and that Peter surely hadn't meant what he had said.

Her breakdown had come as a big shock to Edmund because she was usually the one who displayed an unshakeable optimism, seeing Aslan's will in everything and trusting Him implicitly. To see her doubts laid bare like this had been a particularly unpleasant awakening for Edmund, reminding him sharply that his little sister had as many uncharted depths as he himself and that no one could be truly confident all the time. So an at least to him strange role reversal had taken place that night, with Edmund trying his best to make Lucy – and himself as well – believe that everything was in Aslan's hand and that He must have had a plan when he sent them back to England. She had listened to him attentively, gradually calming down, and by the end she had fallen asleep, a small smile on her face. Edmund had been awake for at least another hour, watching over her and vowing to himself that he would do everything in his power to give her back her happiness and to protect her from attacks such as she had suffered earlier, even if that meant taking drastic action against Peter. He had had no idea what these actions might look like or entail – he still hadn't – but he would be there for her.

Additionally, there had been his conscience keeping him awake, for he knew himself well enough to realise that his indignation on behalf of Lucy was also a convenient means to ignore and flee from his own upset and tangled emotions. Focusing on Lucy, even if just for a time, enabled him to shove away his own hurt, the ache that seemed to be burying deeper into his heart with each passing day, the longing to have his best friend, his brother, back. Sometimes it felt as if half of his soul had been ripped away from him, and he'd give everything to return things to the way they had been before. He missed Peter so much, missed their closeness, their talks, their ability to communicate scores of meaning with only a glance, and his continued absence was like an open wound. Edmund would even be grateful for just one afternoon without that dreadful tension Peter seemed to be wearing like a cloak.

More often than not he was completely helpless in the face of Peter's outbursts, and although he would always stand by him and be steadfast – as his bruised knuckles and black eye from the day before attested to – it was becoming increasingly difficult. The incident with Lucy was the best proof of how he was ever more entangling himself in a web of conflicting loyalties, and he was afraid that he'd soon be unable to get out. If only he could comprehend what was going on in Peter's head! But his brother refused to open up in any way, no matter what Edmund tried, so there was no chance whatsoever of understanding or helping him.

Edmund frequently asked himself – and the great Lion as well – what His designs were, what He intended with all the sorrow they were now enduring because he honestly didn't have the foggiest idea. At times it was so hard trusting Aslan, especially when all he could see around him was darkness and division, but he struggled to do it nonetheless since he was certain he would go crazy otherwise. He hoped Aslan would let them know His plans soon because he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to stand this state of uncertainty. For now, Edmund simply continued on, day by day, begging Him to bring about a change sooner rather than later.

TBC

So, that was the first chapter. Please tell me what you think and if you like it. As I said, I'm a bit uncertain about it and I'd therefore be happy to hear your thoughts.