Summary: The story of how King Edmund the Just, Ruler of Narnia, lost half his ear and gained nine new siblings. Fourth attempt at a stroll through Narnia.

Disclaimer: A lot of things are mine. My couch, my computer - well she has a mind of her own sometimes, but I'm pretty sure she's mine. The Chronicles and all its characters are not. They are all the property of one C. S. Lewis. So anything you recognize is his, or electrum's (she's been kind enough to lend me some of her characters and I've tried not to abuse them too much). Everything you don't recognize is most likely mine.

Second disclaimer: Speaking of other fanfiction writers - one disclaimer I've seen a couple places already: I've read so many fanfics that I may unintentionally have let them inspire me. No conscious plagiarism, mind you. But slip-ups do happen. If you see anything blaringly obvious, let me know in a review ;) Vague mentions of events from Lirenel's story Terror Gold – if you're not familiar with the title you should go and look it up immediately. Definitely worth reading.

Graciously beta'ed by rosebudmelissa. Every scrap of awesomeness is hers. All mistakes are mine.

The Last Guardians

Chapter 1: Anger

One by one, the soldiers slaughtered his men. Edmund was forced to watch. It had started out as such a simple mission. Ride West. Find the families that had been raided. Take them back to the Cair for proper protection and debriefing. There had never been talk of seeking out the troublemakers. Never any plans to engage the raiders. Not yet, at least. But, Edmund had managed to mess the mission up so gloriously.

They hadn't been able to find any remaining Narnians to bear witness to the raids. They had found the bodies of two Narnians east of the Telmar River. That should have been his first warning to not underestimate the threat. But he had followed protocol and sent a Bat courier to inform Susan whilst he and his guard continued West. Susan was the only one of his siblings still at Cair Paravel. Peter was engaged with disturbances to the North. Again. Lucy was on a diplomatic mission to Galma because they had heard rumors that someone had tried to assassinate the duke. The Duke, considering it a point of honor not to trouble his monarchs with matters he percieved as small, claimed that all was well. When a second notice arrived at Cair Paravel, informing them that someone had again tried to assassinate the duke, they had decided one of them had to go and investigate. Edmund and Lucy flipped for it. Lucy won.

By the time the raids were reported to the Cair, Peter had been gone a week and five days, and Lucy three days. Susan was busy trying to keep the country running smoothly with only herself and Edmund available to attend to matters of state. And then the message came, it's final phrases saying: "Families are being raided in the West, Your Majesties. Please send help."

Edmund had thought that perhaps a divine hand had reached down to make sure he didn't skimp on his royal responsibilities. The West was his to protect as Susan had lovingly reminded him. She had brushed his hair back as she had done years ago, when he was a child. She had just given him a sincere albeit forced smile, when a Calormene ambassador burst into the room. Realizing he had indeed interrupted the King and Queen, he quickly apologized in mortification and backed out of the room.

Susan had looked at him and asked if he wanted to trade duties.

He really couldn't say yes.

So Edmund left. He and a company of seventeen headed out into the Western Wild. The unusual number had been a result of most the soldiers leaving for the North with Peter. Aslan, seven years of negotiations and the giants were still threatening war and violating borders. Edmund couldn't say he blamed his brother for taking so many soldiers. Alright, he was still a little upset that he had so brazenly taken seventy percent of the Royal guard to deal with a matter of diplomatic relations. Of course, diplomatic usually meant bombardment across fortifications when giants were involved. But still. With the advancements in war machinery, an open confrontation should have been easily avoidable.

Peter didn't agree and a huge argument had ensued. It had reached a point where Oreius had interfered. The kings had been separated for the evening and Peter had calmly resumed his planning. Edmund had sulked, but said no more on the matter. Perhaps he was blaming his brother. He was blaming himself as well. Blaming the Telmarines that had killed his men. Even blaming Aslan a little.

He wondered what the Great Lion had planned now. Now that he was alone and in the hands of his enemies. They had traveled far already. Only one night had passed since the slaughter of his Royal guards. Already they had reached Caldron Pool, the magnificent spillway that marked the border into Telmar. Uncharted mountain-country. He knew what would happen once they reached their intended destination. He would be killed. They would probably throw a ceremony to mark the occasion as well. He absentmindedly wondered why he wasn't more upset about his impending death. But, perhaps it shouldn't surprise him.

All he felt was rage. It burned through his veins, through his every thought, leaving room for no other feelings. He had woken up last night to the sound of his own screams. Horrible dreams of the soldier they had slaughtered like an animal and not the Animal it was.

They had strung up a Bull in a tree and slit his throat. They had proceeded to skin him while his last drops of life soaked the ground below and then they had carved him into pieces for easy transport. They would eat him for dinner, they announced with callous laughter.

The Telmarine soldiers had mocked him as he screamed in outrage over the atrocious crime. He had cried and threatened until his voice gave out, and had continued to glare silently at them. The King's silence was more unnerving as it turned out, and he had continued to do so until all had fallen into an uneasy silence. It was satisfying to know he still held some power over them. Narnian fire was not to be trifled with. The Telmarines knew that after their last failed attempt to grab it for themselves. They had slaughtered mercilessly and been burned in return.

His brother had sworn that he would never again lose his temper like that. Edmund had been scared of him in the light of what had happened. He wondered what his brother would do if they actually succeeded in killing one of the sovereigns. How mad Peter would become once he learned the news of Edmund's death. By the hands of Telmarines no less. Last time Edmund had been able to walk away. It didn't look like he would get the chance this time.

They stopped at Caldron Pool for one night. Arguments erupted among the men over which route to take and Edmund too, wondered how they planned to traverse the mountains. He was secretly pleased when a fistfight broke out between two Telmarine men, but contained the joy.

It didn't matter that they were no longer watching him. He wouldn't get far even if they untied him. He could hardly walk. Climbing would be impossible unless they dragged him.

Somewhere along his inner dialogue he must've let a glimmer of mockery show because without warning the arguments became focused on him. He smirked when the squabbling Telmarines glared at him and made their way over. Anger bubbled in his stomach, but he barked out a laugh when they threatened to kill him then and there. Leave him for the lions. The thought of being eaten by a lion filled him with bitter humor. Was that Aslan's great plan for his future?

As it turned out, the Telmarines didn't much appreciate his cavalier take on the situation and quickly took out their anger on him.

He had cried out hoarsely when the first lashes hit. The whip left deep marks in his skin, despite his leather tunic. He cries turned to curses when they took the Bull and stuck it on a spit. He'd had a name, Edmund thought. He'd had a family.

At the sight of his sadness the Telmarines left him be. He wept as they feasted merrily on a Creature he had once called friend.

Now he was numb. In every sense but physically. He was numb to the point of death.

As night came, his muscles stiffened. He imagined he could hear them crackling whenever he moved. It was colder than usual for this time of year. The darkness brought mist and cold with it. It was always misty near the mountains. Especially to the north. Peter. Edmund shivered and whimpered in the darkness. He ignored the tears that slipped down his cheeks. It was too early to cry. There was too much to do. He had friends to avenge. Once each and every one of their murderers was dead, he would try his very best to escape. He would cry once he was back home. Safe in the arms of siblings who loved him.

Morning came. It turned out the soldiers hadn't been worried about climbing. Merely waiting for orders. A runner arrived early in the morning. He delivered orders that the Just King was to be brought to the Air Castle. Edmund had never heard of it. Through the haze of pain he managed to get a little worried. Since when had the Telmarines become so organized? All he had ever heard of were little enclaves and nomadic societies ruled by patriarchs. He had never heard of any castles. Never any established pecking order. Telmarine gypsies had visited the Cair on occasion, bringing with them strange instruments and knickknacks. They usually came in the summer, playing music and dancing in front of roaring fires.

Lucy always loved their visits.

It was unlikely that any Telmarine would ever step onto Narnian soil again after this. He gave a growl that turned to a whimper when rough hands heaved him off the ground. They were ready to leave. The sun was halfway to its zenith and they had already finished breakfast. Two rabbits. It was unclear whether or not they had been Talking Beasts, but at this point Edmund would assume the worst.

He was pulled along a path. It had been cleverly concealed and was little more than a deer track. The Telmarines were exchanging jokes and laughter, thinking about warm beds and spiced wine. If Edmund had his way they would never make it that far. He only needed to find an opening. The pain was becoming a steady companion instead of a hindrance, fueling his anger and lending him strength. He needed a weapon. Any weapon would do. He would dig out their hearts with a spoon if one was presented to him.

No weapon presented itself, nor did any opportunities for escape.

Three days of travel up hidden mountain trails had left him utterly drained. His wounds had stopped bleeding, but had begun. . . seeping. It was likely that they were infected. They had started to smell. A couple of the Telmarines had commented on it already, but none of them really seemed to care. Edmund was beyond caring as well. He was miserable all over. If death wanted him, it could come for him itself.

The miles vanished beneath his feet. The country remained forested. The air was full of birdcalls he didn't recognize and smells he couldn't identify. A strange fever was washing over him. It came in waves that made him stumble. He had just caught himself after nearly falling on his face when a loud roar ripped through the silence. A familiar roar. One he had feared since the first day he heard it. It was a unique sound, produced by a sharp exhale through the nasal cavity of an ogre. Some referred to it as "snorting," or even "snoring" but Edmund had always preferred "roaring". The sound had certain qualities in common with the roar of a tiger.

He and Peter had hunted dumb tigers once. Their roar had a strange ability to paralyze you. To activate the fight or flight instinct. The ogres' roar did the same. Luckily Edmund usually became frightfully good at self-preservation under such circumstances. At that moment he was honestly unsure what his response would be should such a situation arise.

The sound echoed from the mountain sides. He looked up sharply. It bounced from one side to the other until it sounded as if they were surrounded by thousands of ogres. The Telmarines reacted like trained soldiers. They quickly formed a rough circle around Edmund. Spears pointed towards the threat on one side of the circle, swords-men in the other half behind Edmund, and archers in a ring closest to him. He quickly realized that this was a normal occurrence for them. He wondered how often ogre raiding parties ravaged these woods.

How many innocent people were killed each year because the Narnian soldiers had been too busy to patrol these woods? He felt guilty until he refocused on the men around him. They could rot here for all he cared. Murderers each and every one of them. A wave of dizziness made him sway. He was lost in his dizziness and rage when the first assault came.

"MAN-FLESH!" came the greedy roar from the lead ogre. He was the largest of the group and also appeared to be the fastest.

Edmund knelt in the midst of the hub of soldiers, his thoughts hazy, and tried to remember protocol. Draw your weapon. His fingers were tingling. He looked down and saw why. Leather straps were lashed tightly around them. He needed a knife to cut himself free. The first wave of ogres crashed into the first line of soldiers. The second line fell back. One man bumped into Edmund and nearly knocked him over. But the young king smiled when he spotted a dagger on the Telmarine's belt.

He plucked it, the Telmarine none the wiser. His vision was blurring, but it didn't matter. He was almost free. The binds fell to the ground just as the second wave of ogres crashed into the reformed formation. Most of them had moved to the front, leaving their backs wide open and an unguarded escape route for Edmund as well. Stumbling and slipping over rocks, he ran. He ripped through the bonds on his hands and pushed himself to run faster.

He sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him. A boost of adrenalin helped when he needed more agility. He could hear the screams of humans being ripped apart by beasts. He hoped and prayed with everything that was in him, that they wouldn't follow. Neither the humans nor the ogres.

They were far enough North that the evenings were long. The sun stayed in the sky far longer than it would have in Calormen. He stumbled along unfamiliar forest trails in the hopes that he would recognize some landmark. He had run south at first and then turned east after what he surmised was roughly three miles. The landscape sped by him in a rush.

The air cooled as the sun sank. There was still light in the sky, but it no longer reached the ground. His fever was burning and his back was aching with each step – a deep ache that vibrated with each jolt and rippled all the way down his legs. He praised Aslan that the Telmarines hadn't broken his legs after they caught him. They were known for it. It was the simplest way to ensure hostages didn't escape.

But at the rate he was going, he was liable to twist an ankle on the treacherous rocks or hidden roots. He didn't care. Every step he took was already killing him. What did one more injury matter?

The first stars appeared. He navigated by the Northern Cross and made sure to keep it on his left. Home was but a few days walk. All he had to do was make it to Narnia. He was sure Susan had been alerted by now and had mobilized some kind of search and rescue for him. Soon they would find the mutilated remains of his former guard and if Peter heard word of the attack, Edmund was sure he would mobilize. Not just the guard, but the entire army.

A weaker man would have stopped hours ago. He would have caved when the fever caused him to hallucinate. He was sure that men were following him in the shadows. He couldn't hear anything besides his own breathing, but every once in a while he saw a shadow slip behind a tree. It was unnerving, but only made the Just King push harder. Run faster.

Sweat was pouring down his back and burning the angry cuts. Each drop that slithered over infected skin was like white hot metal. It wasn't until the sun had dipped completely below the horizon that he heard the first roar.

It chilled him to the bone. He froze with his breath wheezing in and out of overworked lungs. The ogres had found him. He was sure of it. But he heard no war cries or calls for fell soldiers to attack. He only heard a an occasional solitary roar. It led him to believe that most of the ogres had been slaughtered by the Telmarines. He had hoped they would finish each other off.

The roar sounded again. Closer this time. He increased his pace, not caring about stealth. All he had was that measly dagger. His sword had been confiscated after the attack. So had the shield he always wore on his back and the kneebraces of wrought steel, his fifteenth birthday gift from Lucy.

He hopped over a boulder and twisted his foot on a small rock behind it. His sharp cry echoed through the quiet woods. And with that, he knew he had alerted the ogre to his presence. He again increased his pace, though his ankle nearly buckled under his weight. With a glance back, he slipped again.

This time he hit a rock, face first. He heard the sickening crack as his own skull connected with granite. Then, as everything was swimming out of focus, a growl. Close by. A massive shadow blocked out the light of the stars. And with his last vestiges of strength, he prayed that his siblings would forgive him when he saw them once more in Aslan's country.

AN: First chapter. Let me know what you thought. The story is a long one and fourteen chapters have already been written. Nr. 2 coming soon...