God, shall we ever forget?
Beaten and broke in the fight,
But sticking it, sticking it yet,
Trying to hold the line,
-
(trigger warning: mention of self-harm)
-

"Do you have any idea what they want?" Sanya asked anxiously, looking at Edmund.

"Haven't the faintest." Edmund answered back, his eyes fixed ahead on the path that lead to his house. His nerves weren't as obvious as Sanya's- but he was also nervous, incredibly so. "I wish I was exaggerating, but really, I've no idea."

"Would Peter know? Or Susan?"

He shook his head, "Doubtful. Even if they did, they're not home."

"None of them?" She was taken aback. Her hands shifted in her coat pockets, as she felt even more nervous. No witnesses? "Where are they?"

"One of our old neighbours is ill, so Mum sent them to his place with some soup and essentials." He'd thought the reason he wasn't being sent was because his parents thought he wouldn't be very comforting to have at a deathbed- but, no, it seemed it was because they had a talk to have with the two of them. "They should be back soon, though."

Sanya nodded, before losing herself in her thoughts once more. Her worry and paranoia was at an all-time high- again.
What could Edmund's parents want with her?
Had they seen her digging at the park the previous day, which was Selene’s birthday? It would definitely have raised alarms in their head.
Or had they found out about the miscarriage? She'd wring Dr. Wright's neck if he'd told on her.
Or perhaps they would force them to separate- like in Romeo and Juliet?
She did not really know how she felt about the story, because the uncomfortable and disturbing age gap had disgusted her. The unrealistic ‘love at first sight’ nonsense irritated her, as well.
It would have been better if they had been older- sixteen and eighteen perhaps- and tried to know each other better, and had taken longer to fall in love...
However, it had some lovely bits of dialogue, and there really was something romantic about dying for and with the one you loved.

But she was getting off topic.

Whatever the matter with her husband's parents was, she doubted she had been called on for a good reason.

"Aren't you wearing gloves?" Edmund asked a minute or two later- he'd found it strange, but Sanya hadn't taken her hands out of her pockets even once. He didn't think he'd seen them since her birthday almost two weeks ago, save for an occasion or two when she lifted one hand to adjust her spectacles. The other hand, though, was always in pockets- she'd even had pockets sewn on dresses and skirts he could swear hadn't had pockets a few weeks ago- or she wore bulky gloves that were too big for her. Regardless, she kept her hands far away from him.
Whatever was happening with them- she liked holding hands with him. So, why?

"What? No-" She shook her head, grasping what he meant, "no, no gloves. Couldn't find any. It's really cold, so had to put my hands in my pockets."
That wasn't the reason, obviously. The true reason was because her hand was scarred and bandaged, and she didn't want to tell him about it.
The thick bandage made it impossible for her to wear gloves- she could wear it on the other hand, that was true, but she couldn't very well wander around wearing only one glove, could she? And the thick, oversized gloves she had tried to wear just made her hand sweat a lot. She had given up in a day.

"Yes, it is." He said, and looked up at the sky, scowling. It wasn't snowing that very moment- but the area was dusted with snow from last night's snowfall. He couldn't even sit down on a bench, because of snow, melted and solid. "I dislike the cold so. I know where Su keeps her gloves, you can borrow a pair and give it back tomorrow-"

"No, that's-"

"Coat pockets and gloves will help fight the cold better." He shrugged. Where was the Sanya that constantly stole his red sleep-tunic, without a care for formalities? He knew she was lying about whatever had happened to her hands, he wasn't stupid- but she could still be relaxed around him and his siblings, as she had been for so long. "Susan won’t mind. You’re family- Moonshine.”

"Er- sure." She'd make an excuse and run out as soon as his parents had finished with the conversation. She couldn't have Ed see what she'd done to herself- especially since there were tell-tale gashes at her wrist, too. He'd easily figure out what she had been trying to do. "Thanks- um, darling."

But, of course, luck was not in Sanya's favour.

"Just a few minutes, son, I need to finish this. Your mum's in the garden, she'll be in in a moment." George looked up from his paperwork, as Edmund and Sanya walked into the living room.
Good golly, had one ever seen two teenagers in love looking so grim-faced?
"Hullo, Sanya, how are you?"

"Uh, fine, thank you." She answered politely, before looking to Edmund, "I think we should wait out-"

"Yes, please do, so you won't hear me curse at this paper." George said, with a very forced smile. "Go up to Ed's room, it's alright- just keep the door open, would you?"

"No, no, it's fine-" Holiest Heavens and hell, why? "I don't mind waiting outside in the- the foy-"

"I'll give you the gloves from Su's room now, come on." What luck. Just a few minutes- hopefully, that meant he and Sanya would have the time to talk about whatever she had done to her hands, but not enough time to devolve into an argument about it. "See you in a bit, Dad."

His father nodded, raising a hand absently, already lost in his work again.

As she walked up the stairs behind her husband, she reflected that she should have gone through with killing herself.

"This is your room." Sanya stated, following into the room Edmund shared with his brother. "Susan keeps her gloves here?"

"No." He said, and turned around to look at her. "Can I see your hands?"

She blinked very rapidly, "What? Why?"

"I want to see if you're wearing your wedding ring."
That wasn't a good lie, but Edmund wasn't as well-versed in mistruths as his wife was. And what other reason could he have even used?

"I can tell you I'm not." She said, before adding, "I'm wearing the necklace, though."

"I can see that, and I'm glad about that-" He was far from glad, or anything that was even somewhat near to happy, "but I want to see your hands."

"No."

"You are completely fine with us fucking here on my bed, while my brother brushes his teeth-" Sanya's cheeks flushed as Edmund said that, which meant he was probably blushing too- but he refused to be distracted by the memory, no matter how pleasing, "but you won't show me your hands?"

There wasn't even a lie to tell, to excuse why she was saying that. What could she say? What could she do?
She wanted to run away from here- from him. Anything to avoid this. Anything to not show him just how damaged and broken and torn apart she was.

"Sanya." He said, imploring. He was begging. "Please, tell me."

But there was nowhere to run. And at least he wasn't asking what had happened to their children. That was something.
"Fine." She muttered, pulling her hands out of her coat pockets. One hand was fine- normal, unhurt- while the other was wrapped thickly in white bandages, around the whole hand and down to her wrist. "It's nothing. I burnt it while making chaa."

"You don't drink tea, and I don't think you even know how to operate a stove." He gave her a look, before stepping closer- and further, too. The more he asked, the more she closed herself off. He could practically see it. But he couldn't not ask- he had to know. "Sit, please."

She sat down on his bed, and he sat next to her.
"What?" She asked, seeing that he had not wavered his gaze from her hand. She had always liked it when he looked at her- it made her feel flustered and noticed and loved- but now, it was disconcerting. "It's nothing-"

"Can you take off the bandage?"

"I- I- I probably shouldn't." He would see the cuts- and the clumsy stitches she'd begged Sarah to do for the deeper cuts. She was great at cooking, but not so much at sewing. "It might still be burnt-"

"Sanya." Edmund said again. He was looking at her now- eyes as dark and intense as always. "I will beg on my knees, if you-" lie again, "don't show me."

Her eyes fluttered- she was hurting him, wasn't she? The exact thing she never wanted to do.
If possible, she hated herself even more. It really would have been better, in the long run, if she'd killed herself.
She held her hand out to him.
"You can do it." She said quietly. She couldn't look at him- how could she? "It won't hurt."

Slowly, in silence, Edmund began to unwrap the coverings- it had been done well, wrapped neatly, and he knew she had done it herself. She'd always been good at cleaning and bandaging cuts.

As the final layer came off, he swore.

"What happened?" He asked tightly, staring at the long, clotted slit over her palm.
It had been stitched crudely with black thread- and that, he knew wasn't done by her. She couldn't sew. And there were several thin cuts and one deeper one at her wrist, as well- almost faded away, but he noticed them, immediately feeling panic. He hoped they weren't what they looked like.
"What happened?"

"I was making a bookmark-" Sanya started- the lie was almost instinctive, "and I had a clumsy moment with the sciss-"

"Stop lying." He couldn't take it anymore. "For the love of fuck, stop lying."

"You stop badgering me so much, Edmund! It's- just- just stop." They had never quarrelled so much back home- or, at all. "We never had these issues before-"

"That's because we lived in a fairytale then!" He couldn't believe she was actually saying that. She knew full well that Narnia- and Rihaaya- and England were worlds apart- literally. "But we don't anymore!"

She inhaled sharply. She forced herself to stop getting angry, because that would do nothing. They weren't supposed to fight.
It was a fairytale.
"As long as I'm with you, it's a fairytale." She spoke simply- but too quietly.
She was second-guessing herself- perhaps fighting was better? What if whatever she was saying- it was the wrong thing, the wrong time? Should she just tell the truth, no matter how much it would hurt him?
"You're the one who makes even this awful reality a lovely story we could have told our little children as we put them to bed."

"I don't disagree with that. I do agree- our love is worth every awful thing we have to endure." He spoke quietly, and he wanted to hold her hand so badly. "So, please. Please tell me the truth. Stop lying."

"I'm not lying-"

"How stupid do you think I am?" He asked angrily, getting to his feet. His temper had flared so quickly after the momentary calm that even Peter would've been surprised. "You were making a bookmark? You don't make bookmarks, you ask me to buy them for you at bookshops. Stop lying, and tell me what happened to your hand!"

Did she think he didn't know? Did she not know he had thought of doing the exact same thing that created scars like this so many times after being a traitor to those he loved!?

He never had. He did not consider that as a testament to his 'strength'- it was just sense and practicality. What good would cutting himself do? It wouldn't change things, and it would just end up hurting his family again.
Despite thinking that, he had still had the urge to harm himself multiple times during the first couple of years in Narnia- doing it would have shown how sorry he was, and it could have been penance.

"I won't!" She shot back, standing as well. "I don't owe you the truth-"
What bullshit. He was her husband, and she was the True. She didn't owe it, but she should not lie to him!

"You owe me fewer lies!"
He wasn't being a hypocrite- he wasn't lying about Cambridge. It simply wasn't set in stone yet- and if or when it was, he would tell her immediately.
But she did not extend him the same courtesy.

"I wouldn't have to lie, if you stopped fucking asking questions-"

He clenched his fists- the action was of anger, but he felt closer to tears than rage. "If you just told me-"

"What?" She didn't even know if she was angry at him, or herself. "What do you want me to tell you? That I tried to k-"

"Edmund!" Helen called from downstairs. "Sanya! Come down!"

Their heads had turned as she had shouted- but, soon, they looked back at each again.

"This conversation is not fucking over." Edmund said, his jaw clenched. He needed to know. He had to be sure that she hadn't- that she had not tried- that the injury wasn't what he thought.
But those scrapes on her wrist were such a tell-tale.
The love of his life wanted to die.
"It's not."

"Yes, it fucking is." Sanya said resolutely, her hands back in her pockets, and walked out of the room without another word.

And she did not speak another word until the Pevensie parents and she and Edmund had been seated around the drawing room, everyone clearly uncomfortable and trying to ignore that.

More silence. Sanya was starting to dislike the silence, which she hadn't thought ever possible.

"S-Sanya?" Helen asked, looking at her son's girlfriend. "Do you have any idea why we called you here?"

"None." She answered, and then was mum.

"Well, Ed must have told you that he's going to Cambridge-"

"What?" Her head swivelled to her husband, cutting off George's words, "you got in to-"

"The place, not the university." Edmund clarified- he still sounded incensed, he hoped his parents didn't notice. "And it's not set in stone. Mum and Dad said something about it after we came back from school, and then nothing again. I would have told you, if there was anything to tell, but there's not."

Alright. Sanya could handle that. He wasn't leaving. He wouldn't leave. He wouldn't leave. He would always stay with her, no matter what.

Why could she not make herself believe that?

Helen rolled her eyes, "That's because we were making arrangements, honey. It's such a bother, you've no idea."

"Arrangements for me to not live with Aunt Alberta?" He asked hopefully, looking to both parents. "Please say yes."

"No. You and Lucy are going to my sister's on the nineteenth, the same day we leave for America." And then George looked to Sanya, who looked wary already. "And we would be honoured if you joined us, Sanya."

"What?" Edmund and Sanya said at the same time. "To America!?"

"That's- strange." Helen said, blinking a little- talking in unison was forever creepy, to use a youthful term- before nodding. "But yes, to America. Peter will be staying at that old Professor's house for tutoring- and Susan will be coming with us. I'm sure she would love having you with us on the trip."

"You can say no if you wish." George went on. "I would prefer if you say yes- but it's up to you, entirely. I know you will need your grandmother's permission, and such a journey is no mean feat, so take your time."

"We just didn't want to leave you here, stranded and alone. I- I know we've been distant-" that was putting it mildly, Helen knew, "but I heard Lucy calling you her sister-in-law a few days ago." She laughed, the memory apparently ridiculous. "We don't have to be close- but, as far as my children are concerned, you're already part of the family."

Sanya didn't say anything, for a minute. She couldn't think of a thing to say- or which part to respond to.
Travel? To America? Ed leaving? Journey? With Susan? Travel? Without Ed?
"I- um- thank you, I'm really- uh, I'm truly very taken aback." She couldn't even attempt a fake laugh. "And it's very g-generous, Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie- but I don't want to be a burden-"

"I know where that's going." George said quickly, interrupting. "Think about it for a day or two, before saying no? I don't know how fond you are of adventures- my children are, greatly- but it will be an adventure."

An adventure. Travel. Seeing the world. She'd wanted that. She had wanted that since she was small- a little girl.

She had had adventures, but had never been able to travel. She'd always had responsibilities, or people to be near.
She didn't have any responsibilities or anyone anymore.

But Edmund. If he was going to Cambridge- that was where she ought to go. They were supposed to never part.

"I'll- I will think about it." She glanced at Edmund for a moment- but he was staring at the floor, his face impassive. "Thank you, seriously. This is really nice of you."

"Of course, sweetheart." Helen said warmly. "I remember what you said about us never truly being close- and we understand that. But if Ed loves you, we love you."

She should've responded to the first half of what she'd said- but, instead, Sanya glanced at Edmund. Did he love her anymore?

Edmund caught her eye. Her brown eyes were bright, but he wished there wasn't such doubt in them- and he wished he didn't feel the same doubt deep down.
He looked away almost immediately.
"It's a really nice offer, Mum, Dad." He said, before getting up. "Is there anything else?"

"No, that's it." George said, looking at his wife, who nodded. "Do you two have plans?"

"No, but I have to get back home." Sanya said quickly, getting to her feet as well. She simply had to run away. "My grandmother needs me for something- thank you again, but I have to leave now-"
Without waiting for a response from her parents-in-law, she hastily made her way out of the drawing room. A drawing room was also known as a sitting room, and a living room as well, she remembered.
What a stupid thing to remember right now- she needed to be out of here, to get out before Edmund caught up to her-

"Sanya!" Edmund said loudly, following after her.

He'd been startled at her speedy departure, and he hadn't realised quite how fast she could walk when she put her mind to it. He wondered if that had always been there, or if she'd picked it up in Neráida.

"Sanya, don't go- please-" he didn't just want to know what had happened- he wanted to help, he wanted to make sure she was alright, "we haven't finished talking about-"

His only answer was a resounding slam as Sanya ran out of the house, pulling the door closed behind her.

Edmund's shoulders sagged, as he stared at the closed door. Oh, he could open it, and run and catch up to her- probably would be easy enough- but he didn't feel like it anymore. He was tired of it.

He was tired of her.

"Talking about what?" Helen asked, as she and George came out of the living room, seeing their son stock-still before the door. "She was in quite a hurry, wasn't she?"

"Er- just about Valentine's Day plans." Edmund said, turning around and forcing a smile. Regardless of whatever happened with them, he wasn't risking his parents reverting back to their anti-Sanya phase. "And she was, yes. I didn't realise just how much."

"You can telephone her later and see if she's free." George suggested. "Don't go out too late, though, it's not safe-"

"I don't think you should go out at all." Helen said, after giving her husband a look. It was far safer to be home- they had the bomb shelter ready in the backyard, in case there was another air raid. It had been a while since the last- two and a half years- but she still worried. "She can come here for supper."

"I think she'll be busy today, actually." Edmund did not have the drive to keep smiling any longer. He just wanted to flop onto his bed and not move until he smelt food.
He began towards the stairs, saying, "And I have some reading to catch up on. See you at supper."

"Do you think there will ever come a time when Ed isn't closed-off?" George wondered out loud, as he heard his son's bedroom door close.

Helen sighed, which was really the best answer she could give.
--

Contrary to what he'd told his parents, Edmund was not reading.
He did have some novels he'd been procrastinating starting- which reader didn't?- but he had no plans to read that day.

He sat on his bed, staring at the opposite wall and thinking. Thinking of when he'd been sitting on the floor and crying because he'd lost his wife and children, and because he loved them so much, but he couldn't remember them.

I can't remember her. He had whispered brokenly, in the middle of sobs. My wife. I love her, and I can't remember loving her. My children- I love them, and I don't remember how that feels.

And now he did remember it. He did feel it.

And it hurt just as much. Not having his children hurt. Not knowing Seraphina- not having seen Jem and Selene grow up- that hurt. Wondering whether his wife had truly abandoned their children hurt. Having Sanya lie to him over and over again hurt. The memory of Sanya's hand and his theory on what might have caused it hurt. Having such doubt about their love hurt.

But he wasn't thinking about the hurt. He was thinking about the feeling.
He'd been doubting it- himself- them- and he'd been so afraid that he was falling out of love. He hadn't thought it possible, that he could stop loving Sanya.

And he was right- he wasn't falling out of love, because that would and could never happen. She wasn't just the love of his life, but his true love.

He'd known it for a long time- but he'd been more sure than ever of it at the very moment she had walked out of the drawing room, and all he'd been able to think of was running after her, holding her in his arms, and trying to make her feel better.

But he certainly needed a rest from her.

"Are you meditating?" Peter asked curiously, as he came in, peeling off the sweater he wore over his shirt and throwing it on his bed.
It had been a nice visit- the neighbour was usually very cranky, but the illness had mellowed him out, as had the soup. And he'd had some delicious candies- which Peter would have asked to take, had Susan not kept glaring at him every time he looked at the candy dish.
Somehow, she hadn't glared at Lucy when the old man had handed her a couple of those sweeties.
But Peter understood that. How could anyone glare at lovely little Lucy?

"No." Edmund said flatly, still staring at the wall. "I'm thinking."

He snorted, "You're always thinking."

He glowered at the wall, though it was intended for his brother.
"Someone in this family has to."

Oh, his little brother was in a mood.
Peter decided to not antagonise him, instead asking, "What're you thinking about?"
Or would it have been better to just stay quiet, and let Ed open up on his own?
Ah, well, what's done was done.

"Mum and Dad asked Sanya to go to America with them."

"I know." He replied, and Edmund's eyes snapped to him, taken aback. "They told Susan and I yesterday. And Lucy suspects."

"Was I the only one in the dark?" He demanded. That was strange- he was rarely in the dark about anything! He was the one who knew things- he noticed them, or he heard them, he always knew. "How did I not-"

"You've been pretty preoccupied since coming back from school." Peter shrugged. "You'd probably have realised if you spent less time inside your head."

How else am I supposed to have intelligent conversation?
But that was more mean than smart, and Edmund didn't want to be mean. He hoped he'd left being mean back at the age of twelve.
"I know, I have, haven't I?" He sighed. "It's just- it's Sanya."

Why? What had Peter done to deserve being the one who was talked to about Edmund and Sanya's relationship? His dad- then Sanya- and now Ed- it was him every single time!
His sisters were the only ones who didn't press him about it, bless them.
"What about her?"

"I don't know. Things have just been- off." He bit his lip. He wondered if that would bleed- like Sanya's hand had surely bled. "I don't even know since when- but they've been strange for ages."

"I'm really the worst person to talk to about relationships, you know." He said lightly. Edmund liked humour. "I've fallen in love, yes, twice- but the person with most experience in relationships of us four- is you."
It was the strangest thing- that it was Edmund. Edmund. His surly, reserved, cool-headed, sarcastic little brother.
Peter wanted to laugh- but he didn't, because he didn't want anything thrown at his face. He really liked his face.

Edmund rolled his eyes, "Just because I've been married for twelve years, doesn't mean I have the faintest, foggiest, feeblest clue about relationships."

"Yeah, but you've always been great in understanding and talking things out."
His brother's diplomacy in the Golden Age had been masterful.
But then, Sanya's ability to catch Ed's tongue and make him tongue-tied was also rather masterful.
Match made in Heaven, really.
"Have you talked to her?"

"I try to." He kept trying. More than once. "Either we start arguing- or she runs away- or- or we just become quiet."
Like they didn't have anything more to say to each other.
That all they would have from now on was silence.

The last occasion he could think of that they had truly felt alright- it had been a rainy day, a couple of weeks ago, and they had been trapped inside a lonesome tunnel because of heavy rain. It was also the last time they'd had sex.

He'd told jokes, to distract her from the possibility of night falling and himself from the tunnel becoming cold- and she had laughed at them all, leaning against the wall.

The bluish light from outside, and the lack of it inside, had made them look like shadows even to each other.

Somewhere in the midst of the joking and giggling, they had begun kissing- he'd lifted her up onto a crate that had been left in the tunnel, and she'd pulled his hat off, knotting her fingers in his hair and pulling him closer, and he'd pushed up her skirts, their mouths firmly together still. She'd welcomed him inside her, and they had stayed in that conjoined ecstasy, in their blissful togetherness.

When the rain stopped later, they hadn't even noticed. They had remained there for hours.

"This is so odd." Peter said, leaning toward. "I mean, just a few months ago- you two were all over each other, sticking to each other like plaster. I swear, Sanya was more your shadow than your wife the first year she was here."

He nodded, knowing that was the truth. She really had stayed as close to him as was humanly possible.
"And I didn't even mind it then, you know?" He'd just been so happy to have her there- he'd been over the Moon because of his Moonshine. "I really didn't. I wanted her near- I wanted to be that close with her, like we had been. But now-"

"You want to be away?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." Edmund hated it, he hated saying that! "If she says no to Mum and Dad- that she won't go- it'll be because of me. Because she can't bear to leave me."

"But you'll be in Cambridge-"

"Then she'll come to Cambridge. Or she'll find a way for me to stay here- I hate, hate being away from her, too, but she's-" He inhaled sharply, and looked down again. "I know we've changed- both of us, all of us. But Sanya- she-" tried to kill herself, "she's- exactly how I remember her, but at the same time, she's so completely different."

I think- I think I've changed, too.
"She's gone through so much, and we don't even know what." He said- he didn't know if there were sides in this- but Peter doubted he'd be able to pick one. He felt bad for both of them- neither of them deserved this agony about their love. "I don't suppose she's told-"

"She doesn't tell me anything." He said curtly. Apart from that day under the tree, after she'd beaten up his bullies- that was the only time she'd opened up and confessed something substantial. "And when she does, they're lies."

Peter blinked- he hadn't expected that.
Sanya lying to Edmund? She had definitely not mentioned that when they had talked.
"Maybe she's just afraid- I don't know, I'm pretty sure she's lost everyone-"

You may not be my everything, but you are the only one I have left.
"She has me." Edmund snapped, a throb of emotion escaping into his words.
Sanya did have him, but it didn't seem to be enough for her. Was it enough for her? And why was his brother defending her?
"She will always, always have me."

She would follow him everywhere, because she couldn't bear to leave him- but did she want to feel that way? Did she want to be with him everywhere? Maybe she wanted a rest, too.

"Maybe she doesn't know that."

"How could she not?" Together or apart, in the same place or world or not, in a relationship or not- he was hers, and she was his. No matter what. "I mean, she must know- she's oblivious, but she's not-"

"I don't bloody know what goes on in San's head." Peter couldn't help rolling his eyes. "That's for you to figure out."

"I've tried." Edmund said, before running a hand through his hair. "But I don't think I want to, anymore. Sometimes she says such- such bizarre things-"

You look at me, and you can't help but see a damaged doll. One who- who's capable of the worst.

"And I can't fathom what she's thinking. Maybe I would have been able to, in Narnia-" when he had been the man she'd fallen for, "but here and now, I can't."
His face almost crumpled, and he looked down, staring at the carpet.
He wanted to cry.
"I can't do this anymore."

That sounded foreboding, and Peter asked nervously, "What do you mean?"

"I don't- I think- I think I do want to walk away."

And I'm not sure if it's a different that worries me or scares me or makes me want to walk away.

He'd told Susan that months ago, and she hadn't believed him for a good few minutes. She had stared at him, and asked if he really meant it, or if he had somehow got himself drunk.

He didn't blame her for her reaction- he hadn't believed himself, even.

"Not for good- I just don't want to be with her for a while. Maybe it would be best- for both of us- some separation. A breather." He didn't know if he was talking to himself, or to Peter. "It's becoming too much, and we're both fucking miserable-"

But he wasn't able to walk away, just as she couldn't let him go.

They needed a break. For both of them- for their love- they needed it.

He repeated that which he had never thought he'd say, "I can't do this anymore. I can't, I just cannot."

His brother's love was breaking in front of him- something he had thought stronger than steel- and he didn't know what to do. Was he to hug him, comfort him? Was he to argue against what he said? Or should he agree?
All he could think of was to tell the truth.
"She loves you, Ed." Peter said softly. "She always will."

"I know." Edmund said, and he knew his next words weren't a lie. "So will I."

-
-✧･: °*✧*°:･✧-
-

Oooooh, Eddie's been pushed to the fucking BRINK.
We'll see how his finally giving up on things will play in the next chapter...
And how he handles things will also help Sanya decide whether she wants to accept the Pevensie parents' offer or not.
Regardless, please don't scold me for the next chapter 🥲

The thing with Sanya is- her issues would be solved if she just TOLD Edmund. If she said what happened to their children, in Neráida, when he was away for rugby, and what happened on her birthday.
But she just can't. She can't say it at all- to anyone. Those memories, that pain, that grief, that guilt- she has lived a thousand years, and it is the absolute worst of the worst of those thousand years. How can she speak about it without breaking down?
And that's not at all. If there is anyone still living she can confide everything in- it's Edmund. But she can't do that, either. She's deathly scared of what he will say, how he will react- and what he will do. She's worried he'll hate her how she hates herself- and that he'll leave her.
She's that afraid of losing him. She cannot risk it- she can't even risk the risk.

But that's the very thing that's pushing Edmund away. He can't handle the lies. He can't handle being shut out by someone who spent a thousand years in basically purgatory for him. He can't handle the fact that Sanya is making him feel like he's not worthy of knowing what happened to her.

Sanya bandages Edmund's hand in Chapter 18- Protego- of 'Alliance' after he hurts himself defending her from her abuser- it's a chapter where he finally got his head screwed on right and where he defended Sanya and Sanya decided she would kiss him to show she had feelings, and coming closer- and then you have this Chapter 18.
Them arguing, breaking apart further, going away from each other perhaps literally- and Edmund undoing Sanya's bandages to show her self-inflicted cuts.

That was a parallel I JUST realised while writing this author's note.

Also, I've been meaning to say this- the poems at the beginning of the chapters? They're almost all poems of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (the author of Sherlock Holmes, if you don't know), and Jane Austen (the author of Pride and Prejudice and many other novels, which SURELY you must know). Former for Edmund, latter for Sanya.
There are poems by others, too- Emily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley, T. S. Eliot, Charlotte Brontë, P. B. Shelley, Michael Field- you'll see soon.

That really has nothing to do with the story, I just thought I should say something that ~diffuses the tension~.

Peter always being the one people sidle up to to talk about Edmanya is so fucking funny, I can't 😂😭
Still hasn't got into Cambridge, either 💀💀💀 man cannot catch a break.
But then, he caught Aura and Caspian, so it's just balancing the scales.
(Let us forget that he then lost Aura and Caspian 🥲)

And, as always- I humbly and unashamedly ask you to vote on the chapters, and perhaps comment, too :)