Disclaimer: Would you be in the C.S. Lewis section, if you didn't know who owned Narnia? Ah, didn't think so.

A world of thanks to my beta-reader, Roocersoc, who taught me the value of present tense, and puts up with my…hiati? Hiatuses? Well, whatever the past tense of hiatus is.

Gathered Fragments

Chapter 1: Enchanted

Really, they would have terrified braver men than him. The moment he crept into the corridor, the hanging masks caught his eyes. They lined the walls, their gaping mouths and painted faces looking positively eerie in shafts of moonlight. A shiver ran up his spine but he held himself up bravely, as only a King of Narnia could, and walked on.

Something in this extraordinary House was calling out to him, and Edmund knew too little about Magic to ignore the surge of energy flowing into his limbs, the irresistible golden Voice calling his name. . He had been quickly tired out from all the merriment beforehand; and though he politely would not show it, very eager to be rid of the persistent Dufflepuds. Eustace and Caspian had crawled under the covers and been asleep in minutes; and soon thereafter Reepicheep's tiny snores echoed throughout the bedroom provided for them by Coriakin. But a sleepless Edmund had sat bolt upright, feeling his heart hammer away. The night was still rich with enchantments lingering in the air. Something somewhere in the Magician's House was drawing him forth; it would plague him the whole night if it had to. Edmund felt sure he wouldn't get any rest until he was summoned to its side. And it wanted him, only him, it wouldn't have any other.

So he'd dressed by moonlight, found his hunting dagger, and crept silently out of the room.. Edmund shivered despite himself, and he began the long walk down a moonlit corridor, feeling for the dagger at his side. He had half a mind to go back for his sword. Somehow, he knew the dagger wouldn't be much protection against what he was going to face. On and on he walked, trying not to think of what an endless stretch of corridor it seemed to be; he kept a hand on his weapon— just in case. He gave up on counting doorways and kept eyes fixed stoically ahead, led on by the resonant, nameless summon.

He snuck another look at the masks, trying to remember how comical they had looked in broad daylight. One of them had a crown of thorns, and a pale, dead-white face. Edmund flinched and pushed on hurriedly. Countless closed doors went by in a blur. If he stopped long enough, he might have been able to decipher their etched symbols, but Edmund went past them, eerily aware of his destination. He could just make out the outline of the very last door, where Lucy had been this morning. But right beside it…was a spot devoid of shadows in which all moonlight seemed to pool. The room next to it. This is it.

Edmund stopped, regarding it with grim certainty. The door he faced was open a crack and cold blue light just barely spilled through. Just the others, this one displayed vivid scarlet carvings in an unknown language, and they seemed wise and familiar to a young King's learned eyes. But none of these mattered now, for a fierce, desperate longing took hold of him. A nameless force within that room was singing his name over and over again, until he was awash in echoes of himself .

DearsonofAdamcomeKingEdmundcomenowEdmund…Edmund…Edmund…Edmund …

"I've come," Edmund said calmly, feeling no fear.

"I'm here," he whispered, and he swinging the door open, he slipped in.

He came into a squarish room with a tapestry carpet and shelve-lined walls from floor to ceiling. Books of all sizes did not nearly fill up the shelves; he had a glimpse of the occasional gap and triangular spaces between gold-bound volumes.

All bluish light emanated from the most curious object in this room: a delicately framed pane of reflective glass set into the far wall, opposite the door he'd just entered . Edmund's face was instantly tinged frosty blue, his paleness a stark contrast to his wild dark hair, and the dark jacket he'd thrown over his night clothes. As he moved closer, he had impression that a gentle swirl of pale blue light swelled beneath the mirror's surface. It flung peculiar patterns all over the room. He gripped his dagger so tightly, that its hilt carvings dug into his palm.

The Voice was melting into bright tremulous tones beyond the polished glass, enticing him more than ever before. Somehow he was certain that it meant him no harm. It was not a sinister enchantment, though it flowed into him and made him feel horribly alone and in want of warmth. Eagerly, he dropped the dagger and reached out his hand, reached out to his white-faced reflection.

His hand passed through the glass; pierced into shimmering bluish white.

Edmund was anything but surprised. This is it, he thought. If I'm what you want..then so be it. He pressed on, stepping into the mirror putting both hands forward. Edmund gasped as the glass engulfed him. He tingled all over; his body gave in to the pure Magic of it. Edmund kept a steady eye on his hands, slicing through a thin blue mist, as far as the eye could see.

And the strange, far-off voice went on, fluid and silvery as moonlight,. Nothing seemed to matter as he plunged through the mist; only this strange muted summon and the intoxicating pulse of strength in his veins.

Find him…find him… the voice sighed, sounding as though somebody was right by his ear .

"Find who?" Edmund's low voice shook slightly. He wasn't even sure if It had a voice anymore, it was drifting into his thoughts in lingering echoes .

You know who…

Edmund lowered his hands when he could no longer see them. Who?! He paused, reluctance mounting as he was met with silence. The mist was now a shimmering blue obscurity, and the sharp outlines of the room had melted behind into vague faintness.

This isn't good. I should turn back. By the Lion, I'm in a mirror!. A mirror in an enchanted house! For an instant, he was assailed by terrible visions of enchantment: Odysseus' men lured by the sirens' call, Lord Mavramorn diving to his golden death…dead-white hands feeding him Turkish Delight…Stop that, Edmund He inhaled sharply, rocking on the balls of his feet. This wasn't a good time to be remembering that.

Then the voice crept through the fog once more and he could hear every tinkling word.

Lost…he is lost…find him…only you can find him

He peered hopelessly into the drifting mist. Do tell me who he is! Tell me who I'm supposed to find!

Tell me who you are…

Aggravated, Edmund cast a glance over his shoulder. A patch of lucid colors was suspended in the cloud of sparkling blue. It was all that was left of the room, and the Mirror's entrance. He gave a resigned sigh. Well, perhaps it would be alright as long as he could still get back. And on he walked, reminded strongly of the first time he entered the wardrobe into Narnia: a door into the outside world getting further and further away, the sting of snowy air on his skin, sharp prickling on his face as icicles clung to it… Edmund blinked. Something crunched oddly beneath his boots. The voice was fading into the distance, as quickly as the mist was lifting.

He had time to brush frozen crystals off his face before the last traces of mist vanished and he saw where he was.

"By Jove," he muttered, "Why I do believe…I'm back"

It was the Western Waste as he'd first seen it, cold, quiet, and glaring white with snow in every direction. A weak sun hung low in the cloudless blue sky; barely touching the treetops. Skeletal, snow-covered trees lay before him, all around him; if he looked closer, he could spot the lamppost's soft glow amidst a copse of firs on the far left.

Edmund blew out a puff of cold air. He tugged his fur-lined jacket closer, grateful for the time he'd taken to pull it on. And then he froze, reaching for his only weapon. The harsh sound of someone sobbing was lost in the cold winter draft.

Crisp snow crunched underfoot and momentary silence lingered in the open air. Another fit of fretful sobs came from deep within the frozen woods. Edmund thought of the Voice's words. Find him, only you can find him…

Whoever it was, it sounded young, human, and horribly lonesome. A child lost in Lantern Waste? And by Aslan, it was winter… of all times to get lost… He sighed. He knew this wood well, he had been Lord of it once upon a time. In his ruling days, the wild Tree-people of Lantern Waste did not think too much of anybody who woke their wintry slumber.

With senses long honed from countless hunts and battles, Edmund managed to crudely pinpoint the sound's source. And he was off, striking a rough path into the woods.

Dodging a low-lying branch, he noticed how the feeble sunlight blended their shadows into an indistinct haze. The surrounding growth of trees looked unnaturally lurid, and then there was the matter of the snow, a candescent whiteness that hurt his eyes the longer he looked at it. Edmund had to blink several times and shake himself to keep on track. He felt like he'd stepped into one of Eustace's favorite muddled paintings.

Was he back in Narnia after all? The deeper he got into the woods, the less he was sure. Along with Edmund's habitual watchfulness came a twinge of suspicion. He'd read of such things, back in England: parallel universes and…what-do-you-call-ems? Edmund racked his brains; he'd have to check his detective anthologies later. This must be what the place was, distorted reality, a skewed alternate Narnia caught in the reflections of the Magician's Mirror…

And speaking of which, he realized that he'd left behind all traces of the mysterious mist and with it, the room and the Mirror from which he'd entered.

Before he could further dwell on this, something heavy decked him square on the forehead. Blast! Another branch…ought to have been more careful… Edmund groaned, touching the aching spot—just as a flurry of snow slid off the branch, landing on his head. Lovely. He pushed back his cold, dripping hair, suddenly alert. The crying sounded closer than ever…in fact it might have been coming from a gap in the trees ahead that seemed to open out into a small clearing. He made his way to it and gaped in momentary surprise. It was a clearing, and in its center, curled into a miserable ball and choking with sobs, sat a dark-haired boy.

Edmund's chest stirred with the beginnings of sympathy. He stepped into open space, proceeding cautiously towards the small, hunched figure. As light as his steps were, his boots made muffled noises in the fresh-fallen snow. The boy's sobs died down; his slim shoulders tensed.

"Hello," Edmund said, gently as he could, intent on not frightening him. "Are you lost? Don't worry, I—"

His words died when the child lifted his head.

A/N: M'kay, we get this a lot in here but…this is my first chaptered fic, and I'd really love feedback! I know there isn't much of a plot yet, but even comments about the writing style would make my day.

And I knew it wasn't 'hiati', I was kidding. : )