Okay, so I realize most people have moved on from the Narnia fandom. But I'm going to post this story anyway because the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe movie is still one of my favorites :)

If anyone actually does read this, and has questions about anything, don't hesitate to ask!

The title is from the song Mountain Sound by Of Monsters and Men

"You'll never guess what nonsense Tumnus was spouting this morning," Edmund began conversationally, leaning against one of the posts of Peter's bed.

Peter glanced up from the bag he was packing. "What did he say?"

"He made the most outrageous claim," Edmund continued casually.

"Fauns are prone to exaggeration but Tumnus is no liar," Peter said.

Edmund swung around the post and threw himself into a seat on the mattress, jostling Peter's belongings. "I asked him when we were leaving and he said I wasn't going. That I had been ordered to stay here, in Cair Paravel, while the high king goes traipsing through the forest after the most dangerous Wraith known to man or beast."

"Edmund-" Peter started.

But Edmund pressed on. "And then, when I asked him under whose authority I was being grounded, do you know what he told me? He said it was yours. And I knew then there just had to be some mistake. Because I know my brother and he wouldn't leave me behind." Once he was finished speaking, he gave Peter a hard look. "I don't know whether he was playing some kind of a game or if he was just confused or misinformed, but it's not right for him to use your name like that."

Peter sighed. "Tumnus is right, Ed. You're staying here."

Edmund pulled back, as if reeling from a physical assault. Peter quickly glanced away. Abruptly, the younger boy collected himself, drawing his shoulders into a high, tight line.

"Why?" he demanded.

Peter ignored him, focusing on his preparations.

"Why can't I go, Peter?" Edmund asked. "I've accompanied you on scores of these Fell hunts."

"This one isn't going to be like the others, Ed," Peter pointed out, still refusing to look at him. "All the reports we've been given indicate that this creature was one of the Witch's most powerful followers."

"But have I not proven myself a worthy warrior in battle?" Edmund insisted.

"The bravest in the whole army," Peter agreed.

"Is not my skill with a sword impressive?" Edmund continued.

"It is," Peter conceded.

"Then why would you leave me behind?" Edmund questioned impatiently.

Peter remained mute. With a frustrated growl, Edmund launched himself off the bed and crossed his arms. "Do you not trust me?"

"Of course I do," Peter immediately responded. "I trust you with my life, you know that."

"Then why must I stay behind?" Edmund shouted.

Peter spun around and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Because I don't trust myself with your life!"

Stunned into silence by Peter's uncharacteristic outburst, Edmund stood motionless in his grasp. A moment later, Peter slumped, releasing him and turning away.

"I can't protect you," he explained, sounding unnaturally weary. "Not like I should." He scrubbed a hand down his face before facing Edmund once more.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Edmund asked quietly, recognizing his brother's distress. "I haven't seen you this upset since…" he trailed off, realization creeping over him.

"It's been a year," Peter murmured. "A year since you were almost killed." He carefully lifted the edge of Edmund's shirt, pulling it up just far enough to see the jagged scar on his abdomen. Reverently, he reached out as if to touch it. But his fingers never made contact, hovering just above the raised white line.

Edmund gently reclaimed his shirt from Peter, and the scar was covered once more. Peter's eyes never left the spot where it was, even hidden beneath the fabric. "By the grace of Aslan, I yet live."

With a shudder, Peter said, "And only because of that. It was a close call. Too close."

Edmund frowned. "Don't you believe Aslan could give grace again?"

Ashamed, Peter looked down. Edmund softened his tone for his next words.

"There are four thrones. Aslan wanted them filled and He'll keep them that way as long as He wills." He ducked his head to catch Peter's eye. "Besides, you can't keep me locked up in here forever. Something can just as easily get me in the Cair as out there. A statue could fall on me. Or a stray javelin may hit me while the Centaurs are training. Or I might even choke on my dinner." At Peter's reluctant chuckle, Edmund smiled. "You never know, Pete." Knowing that Peter's resolve was wearing down, Edmund sobered to present the final part of his argument. "Aslan gave me the Western Woods to rule. How can I sit idly by while my kingdom is in danger?"

Peter met his gaze squarely and finally gave him a firm nod, which Edmund returned.

An hour later, the two kings were dressed, mounted on their royal steeds, and riding with a select band of Narnia's choicest warriors toward the Western Wood. The midmorning sun cheered them on their way, shining gayly in the sapphire sky. Animals greeted them as they passed, Birds chirping from the clouds, Squirrels from leafy branches, even sleepy Badgers poking their noses from their burrows. Despite the gravity of their mission, the military entourage was in high spirits. Many of the soldiers expected to be returning, victorious, in less than a week, so long as the fair weather held. After a brief halt for lunch, the company continued on their journey. They had traveled only a few more leagues before they met their guide.

"Mr. Fox," Peter greeted.

"Your majesties," he returned, dipping into a bow, first to Peter and then to Edmund.

"Any news of our quarry?" Oreius asked.

"Nothing more than the excited chatter of Quicktwig. But, as everyone knows, Squirrels, despite their good intentions, are not the most reliable source of information," Fox said with a smirk.

"Indeed," Oreius agreed. "How far until we reach the last reliably known sighting?"

"Three days' ride hence, I believe," Fox said.

"Then pray, good cousin, lead on." Peter gestured with his hand.

Fox nodded and took a step forward before stopping to turn his head over his shoulder. "Only beware, sire, for Wraiths can take the form of any creature they choose."

Edmund frowned. "Then how are we supposed to know when we've found it?'"

"All we can do is hope to catch it before it changes form," Fox replied.

"That's not a very comforting thought," Edmund muttered.

The afternoon was filled with the mundane monotony of rhythmic hoofsteps, the creak of leather, occasional conversation, and the unsullied beauty of nature. Gradually, the sun sunk beneath the horizon and the troop found a clearing in which to make camp. After an easy meal of bread and cheese, the night watch was assigned and bedrolls were set out. The mild summer night was comfortable and Edmund was content to stretch out beneath the leafy boughs of the surrounding forest. The Dryads giggled, whispered, and played inbetween the tree trunks, and he couldn't help but smile along with them. It wasn't every day that half of Narnia's monarchs camped out with a military band, and the Trees were giddy with excitement. With the gentle breeze caressing his face, the small campfire snapping away cheerfully, and Peter resting on the ground nearby, Edmund was soon asleep.

It was a quick matter of starting again on their way in the morning. The Dryads eagerly provided them with a breakfast of berries and edible plants. As they served the Narnian army, stray petals seemed to be constantly, and coincidentally, brushing across Edmund's cheeks, his hair, his arms. Peter was much more amused by this than his brother, although Edmund gracefully and honorably endured the Trees' blushing promises that such contact was purely accidental. The second day of the journey passed much as the first had.

The sun was high in the sky, bathing the woods in a green tint as it filtered through the leaves, when Peter remarked, "I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."

Edmund twisted around in his saddle to face him. "Take what?"

"This." Peter gestured widely to encompass the thick canopy of limbs above them and the wall of trees on either side of the maintained path. "All the trees and the shadows. Not being able to see anything beyond the first line of trunks."

Philip snickered. "Your highness probably should have thought of that before he insisted on leading this hunt."

Oreius stamped out his next step harder than necessary. "Mind your tone when you address the high king."

"It's alright," Edmund assured them. "Philip didn't mean any disrespect. He was merely expressing a valid point."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Besides, I don't see what there is to complain about," Edmund continued with a sly gleam in his eye. "What's so bad about the tightly packed trees? And the gloom that could have anything lurking in it? There's no way to know, really, what's hiding just around the next bend in the road. No way to see the bloodthirsty monster sneaking up behind you, ready to pounce on you and sink its teeth into your skin and rip your beating heart from your chest-"

"Edmund, stop," Peter groaned, the graphic description doing little to quell his claustrophobia.

Philip willingly picked up the narrative for his rider. "Exactly. Who needs fresh air and a glimpse of the sky every now and then when you're practically blind and forced to keep to a single path?"

"Hush, Philip." Edmund suddenly straightened in his seat.

"I didn't mean to scare you as well," Philip complained.

"No, I mean it. Do be quiet, all of you," Edmund snapped.

Recognizing the urgent tone in Edmund's voice, Peter held up a hand, bringing the company to a halt. "What is it, Ed?" he questioned softly.

Edmund didn't answer right away, head swiveling slowly from one side to the other. "Do you hear that?"

The whole battalion strained their ears. Finally, after not identifying any unusual sounds, Peter asked, "Hear what?"

"Exactly." Edmund turned to him with a grim expression on his face. "I can't hear anything." At the confused expressions he received from his audience, he elaborated, "Why aren't the Birds singing? Where are the Squirrels and the like?"

Philip shifted uneasily. "It is not uncommon for Animals to gather at someone's house for tea," he suggested. "Perhaps they're not in this part of the forest at the moment."

Edmund held up a finger. "But what about the insects?" Again, the soldiers listened to what they could now recognize as an unnatural silence. "Don't dismiss an insect's wisdom just because it can't Speak," he sagely advised. "Something scared them off or drove them out."

Peter's hand drifted to the sword at his hip, while Fox scented the air.

"You are right, my lord," Fox said. "It is yet a ways off but the scent of Evil is thick in this place."

"Look sharp then," Peter said, addressing the company as a whole.

The mood turned sober and the soldiers were appropriately serious, gripping their weapons tighter. Fox led them further down the path, pausing every now and then to sniff out his quarry. Edmund twisted the reins in his hand, trying to relieve the tension coiling in his muscles. Finally, Fox stopped. He took a step to the left, nose in the air. Then he put his snout to the ground and took a step to the right.

"Which way, good cousin?" Peter asked.

Fox sighed. "My deepest apologies, highness, but I can not tell. It must be very close for the scent is so strong I am having trouble distinguishing a specific direction from which it is originating."

Peter frowned and exchanged a worried glance with Edmund. "How could it be this close to Cair Paravel? We are less than two days' ride from the castle. One, if the rider is swift."

"It is bold indeed to come so close," Oreius said.

"Bold or foolish?" Philip murmured.

"Either option is dangerous," Oreius countered.

Peter dismounted and tethered his horse to the closest tree branch. "Alright. Spread out and search the area."

The soldiers obediently split into groups of three or four and headed into the treeline. Edmund climbed off Philip, much to the Horse's dismay.

"Must you go on foot?" he questioned.

Edmund patted him reassuringly. "You and I both know it's easier to move through the trees this way."

"True. But I don't have to like it," Philip said.

"Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious here on the road," Edmund said.

"Be careful," Philip called after him, as Edmund moved into the treeline.

"Yes, mum," Edmund shouted back.

As soon as he left the path, it seemed as though the forest grew darker. The large trees stood like unmovable pillars, glaring down at him. His banter with Philip had delayed him and the other groups had already moved further away, leaving him behind, though he could hear the muffled noise of their progress. The stillness of the usually lively woods unsettled him, prickling his skin into gooseflesh and raising the hairs on the nape of his neck. Even the sound of his soft footsteps was swallowed in the strange silence. He pushed forward resolutely, hand curled around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it in a second if needed. His breathing was shallow, almost as if the air was too thick to allow for normal respiration.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye drew him deeper into the trees, away from the direction the others had gone. He followed the inexplicable prodding in his mind that told him he was heading the right way. His steps led him to a place where the ground fell away steeply to one side, forming a sort of ravine. He paused, searching the area. Then, he spotted it, a dark smear of shadow against the forest's gloom. He smoothly drew his sword, the scrape of metal on metal ringing dully. Taking a deep breath, he crept closer. The shadow moved, revealing two burning eyes as it separated from the surrounding murkiness. Edmund tensed, watching the Wraith. It drifted closer, a shapeless vapor of black, shifting beneath a tattered dark cloak. He could smell it now, a choking tang of rot and decay. It hovered in front of him, roiling like a forming thundercloud. Edmund curled his fingers tighter against the grip of his weapon, assessing his enemy.

Without warning, the Fell lunged at him. Edmund stumbled back. The ground disappeared from beneath his feet, and he tumbled over the edge. Direction lost meaning as his body flipped over and over down the side of the ravine. His limbs banged against a number of sharp stones and fallen tree branches, leaving him with numerous scrapes and bruises. Finally, he hit the bottom, impacting the ground hard. With a groan, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. The Wraith swooped down toward him. Edmund scrambled to his feet, and realized he had lost his sword when he'd fallen. It glinted where he had dropped it, halfway up the hillside. Weaponless, he could only roll out of the way as the creature came at him. It sliced through the air where he had been only a second ago. Edmund jumped up, prepared to face it again. But it was nowhere to be seen. He quickly scanned the air above him and the area around him, but he could find no sign of it. Warily, he waited for it to show itself.

A twig snapped behind him and he spun on his heel, fists raised. From behind a tree stepped a boy with dark hair and a wicked smirk. Edmund froze in surprise, taken off guard by the monster with his face. The imitation of him flickered, dispersing into the robed figure before coming back into the shape of Narnia's youngest king. Edmund stared in fascination as the copy of him grinned with teeth that looked like his, flexed hands that looked like his, moved feet that looked like his. Then he set his jaw and jumped at the creature. It swerved away from him, diving to the left as he came at it. Edmund regained his balance, pivoting on his heel to throw a punch into its face. His fist went straight through, leaving him gaping. The Wraith smiled with his lips, its ethereal form impervious to his physical strikes. Determined, Edmund kicked out, planting his foot where it mimicked his torso. But again, he was met with empty air, causing him to fall to the forest floor. He spat out a mouthful of dirt, quickly flipping onto his back to glower at the beast. It snickered, the noise a combination of clattering rocks and a throaty growl.

Edmund scrambled away from it, clawing his way through the fallen leaves in an attempt to reach his sword in the hopes that steel could accomplish what his flesh couldn't. He was nearly to the place where his sword lay when the Wraith snatched his ankle, its touch damp and cold. He struggled, trying to wrench his foot away from it. It clung to him, tugging him back down the ravine. Desperately, he stretched his fingers, straining to reach his blade. He could just barely touch it, felt the reassuring solidity of metal beneath his questing grasp before he was yanked backward. He was once again plunged into a dizzying descent until his head struck a rock and consciousness fled him.

When he came to, he wasn't sure he had even opened his eyes. It was dark all around him and he was overcome with panic at the thought that he had lost his vision for good. The idea of going through life blind was terrifying. But then he remembered that nothing happened to him outside of the Lion's will. As soon as Aslan entered his mind, a sense of peace soothed his panic, allowing him to approach the situation rationally. He took several deep breaths, the air stale and unappealing, but it helped clear his brain and allowed him to take stock of his surroundings. The surface beneath him was hard and cold, easily identifiable as stone, leading him to the conclusion that he was in some sort of cave. A crude rope of twisted vines bound his wrists behind his back. The same rough material also restrained his feet. Carefully, mindful of his battered body, Edmund pushed himself into a sitting position, propped against the rock wall behind him. Just as he was testing the strength of his bonds, a fire burst into life in front of him. He turned his face away from the sudden light, blinking at the unexpected brilliance. When his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the shape of his captor. The Wraith was still in his form, although it frequently oscillated between the human shape and its natural vaporous state. It was disturbing to watch his own face disintegrate into a featureless void, broken only by two smoldering eyes, gleaming an angry red in the firelight, only to harden into pale skin stretched tight over bone. It loomed over him, and he resisted the urge to shrink away from it.

"I neeeeed blood," it hissed, a terrible grating whisper. "Your blood." It reached out a hand, fingers grotesquely extended in greedy anticipation.

Edmund avoided looking at the distended digits, casting his gaze elsewhere. "Then why haven't you killed me yet?"

"Yesss, blood," it croaked, rasping and inhuman voice strange coming from his face.

"You said that already," Edmund pointed out.

It flickered, dispersing into shadow before coalescing into a human body. Gliding to the other side of the cave, it retrieved something from a hollow crevice in the rock face. When it came closer, Edmund could see the object held in its hand. It was an ancient dagger, crooked blade catching and absorbing the light of the fire. The Wraith crawled across the cave to where Edmund sat, mouth twisting in malicious anticipation. The king pressed himself further against the wall, trying to put distance between himself and the glinting knife.

"The sssspell requires blood," the Fell creature lisped in its horrible non-voice.

"What spell?" Edmund questioned, fear coiling in his belly.

"Then you will belong to meee," it moaned hungrily.

Edmund straightened his shoulders. "I belong to no one but Aslan."

At the name of the Great Lion, the Wraith recoiled, humanoid illusion shattering to reveal the writhing tendrils of darkness beneath. It shrieked and spat, before reforming into a ghostly version of Edmund.

"Your cat can't sssave you now," it sneered angrily, raising the dagger and seizing his chin.

Despite his frantic struggles, it carved a gash across his right cheekbone. The blade was a firebrand against his face, searing heat spread through the sliced skin, igniting the nerves beneath the surface. He cried out, bodily throwing himself out of its grip. It snarled, yanking him upright again. With a crushing grip, it held him immobile with one hand, dropping the dagger from the other to dig freezing fingers into the cut. Fresh blood ran from the incision, spilling down the curve of his cheek. It cupped its hands beneath his jaw to catch the sanguine liquid. Free at last, Edmund scrambled away, as best he could with bound limbs. His cheek was a pulsating mess of blistering hurt and he squeezed his eyes shut, panting through the worst of the pain. When he finally opened them, he could see that the Wraith was no longer flickering, its form solidifying until he saw himself standing there, blood dribbling down his chin. Disgusted and horrified, Edmund came to the realization that the creature had planned this in advance. It could have picked anywhere to appear in Narnia. It could have picked anyone to imitate. But it had selected his woods, chosen his body to steal.

"Why me?" he asked, words roughened by pain.

The thing grinned, teeth stained red. And when it replied, it had Edmund's voice. "What better way to get revenge for my Mistress than to betray the traitor?"

Edmund shivered, flinching away from the monstrosity. It smirked at him, enjoying his fright. With a glance over its shoulder at him, it returned to the crevice in the wall and withdrew a necklace. The chain was a simple one, made of silver. It had no jewel for a pendant, but rather a small glass vial. It slunk back over to Edmund and scraped the vial up the injured side of his face, collecting blood in the glass. When it was full, the Wraith snapped the vial closed and slipped the necklace over its head, tucking the chain and vial beneath the collar of its shirt.

"You'll never succeed. Peter will come looking for me," Edmund mustered.

"Unless he's already found you," it chuckled darkly, moving to the other side of the cave and picking up what Edmund recognized as his sword, leveling it at his chest.

With a sharp gasp, Edmund anticipated the strike that would end his life. But the Wraith only brought the hilt crashing into his temple, sending him into unconsciousness once more.