Lucy, by Tumnus

Trot, trot, trot. The dreary crunching of his own hooves was the only sound Tumnus heard in the whole dreary forest. White and gray and brown stretched as far as he could see, punctuated only by evergreens here and there. It had been a long day; he was ready to sit by his warm fire and read a book, take his mind off of his troubles, have a cup of tea and a bit of cake.

He shifted his parcels under his arm a bit more securely, but the movement made his tail slide down and into the snow. He bit off a curse, curled the tail over his arm again, and went on. It seemed forever before he saw the lamp post just ahead. When he had asked her about it, Jadis had said something vague about the beginning of the world and sent him out.

As he neared the lamp he began humming a little ditty his grandfather had taught him. The words he dared not sing in the open; they were about spring and flowing rivers and bright wildflowers, things that the Queen despised. But it took his mind to a place he had only seen in pictures, a time when winter was just a season instead of eternal. He had long ago stopped hoping for such a time to come again; even if it did, it wouldn't be for someone like him. But he could dream of the days gone by.

The words of the song ran through his head as he hummed.

Clear blue sky above me,

Green grass beneath my feet.

Oh dear nymph, lean on my arm,

And we'll let the world go by.

Tender nymph, sweet spirit of

Flowing river …

He cut off mid-hum at the sight of a most strange person walking around the lamp post. His parcels fell to the ground as he exclaimed,

"Goodness gracious me!"

Then, realizing some of his things might have been damaged in the fall (he hoped the cake was unharmed) he bent down and retrieved them before returning the creature's greeting. As he did so, he got a good look at it.

It was female, small and obviously young. His heart began to pound. Could it be … no, certainly not.

He stammered out, "Good evening, good evening. Excuse me … I don't want to be inquisitive … but should I be right in thinking that you are a Daughter of Eve?"

After some puzzlement, the creature replied that her name was Lucy. Lucy. He tried out the name in his mind. Strange that the Queen had never told him they might have names. Lucy. Her puzzled face was so like a Faun's; nothing like a dwarf, though she was hardly any taller than one. Her golden hair was such a contrast to the endless grayness. But he forged ahead.

"But you are … forgive me, you are what they call a Girl?"

"Of course I'm a girl!" she replied, so openly and quickly that he was taken aback, but felt emboldened to say,

"You are, in fact, Human?"

She was by now almost laughing, a merry glint in her eyes such as he had never seen before. She was so young, so … happy. He shook his head a bit and tried to keep her from being suspicious.

"To be sure, to be sure," he said. "How stupid of me! But I've never seen a Son of Adam or a Daughter of Eve before. I am delighted. That is to say ..." The words were almost off his tongue. He forced them back in the face of her innocent curiosity. That is to say, I would be delighted if we had met under other circumstances; if the Queen had not given orders. "Delighted, delighted. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tumnus."

It was almost disappointingly simple to get her to come with him. The delight in her face almost brightened the dull sameness of the snow and the gray sky. It seemed she came from a place where it was always summer. He could hardly grasp the concept. It was obvious that she was not from Narnia, so he covered up his longing with excuses of ignorance, terrified lest she should slip from his grasp and the Queen should find out. He invited her to tea and it took little convincing. He wondered for a moment who 'the others' were, if perhaps they were the other humans, and whether they were nearby, but he took her arm in his and led her in the direction of his home.

The human girl chattered all the way there, mostly speaking of things he had never heard of. Her voice was as golden as her hair, sweet and childish, like something out of a fairy tale, and he took delight in listening to it. He almost forgot why he was taking her with him in the first place, until he unlocked the front door and saw his panpipe lying on the mantelpiece. He looked away from it quickly, hoping the girl would not see; but she stepped inside excitedly and began to explore.

As he set out the tea things he heard her laugh as she looked over his books.

"Is Man a Myth?" she said. "Did you really think so?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "I've never read it. It belonged to my grandfather."

"Do you read much?"

"Not as much as I would like," he admitted, hanging the kettle over the fire.

"It must be wonderful to live here," she rattled on. "I've never had a fireplace. Until we came to the Professor's, of course. But Mrs. Macready won't let us light it by ourselves and it's only in the sitting room. It seems to make a room more cozy, having a fire. Don't you think? I've never seen so much snow before. And it's all so clean and white. In London the snow gets all muddy and horrid. I suppose the snow might be nicer at the Professor's, but of course we won't be there that long. I hope. Peter says we'll be going back home soon. The Professor is awfully nice, of course, but I miss mother and father."

She trailed off and wandered about looking at everything until tea was ready.

It was a wonderful tea; Tumnus couldn't remember the last time he had had a meal with anyone so pleasant. His last time with the Beavers had been tense, full of unspoken fault-finding and disapproval. They certainly didn't disapprove of the extra food he was able to bring them … he pulled his thoughts back to the present with an effort, just in time to pour Lucy a fresh cup of tea.

"This is delicious cake!" she said.

"Would you like another slice?"

"Yes, please!" She grinned widely and finished off the last bite of her first piece, then held out her plate for more. "Mother doesn't let us have more than one, usually. But this is a special occasion, so I suppose it's all right."

"Special occasion?" Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I've never had tea with a faun before," she said. "I didn't know fauns were especially fond of tea."

"Why," Tumnus felt a laugh bubbling up inside of him. It was a strange feeling, bringing back memories of long ago, when he was young and did not yet understand the world. "You are the most extraordinary creature!"

"You've truly never met a girl before?" Lucy asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"Never. I've never met any human before."

"There must be lots of fauns," she said with a sigh. "I'd love to meet them. All your friends and relations. Are there girl fauns?"

"Oh, yes. There are girl fauns."

"Do you have a wife?" Lucy took a large bit of cake.

Tumnus looked away. "No."

"Why not?"

"She wouldn't marry me."

"Oh. Well there must be plenty of others." She smiled her brilliant smile again and Tumnus refused to allow himself to be offended. After all, this was part of the plan. If she was at ease enough to talk about things like that, then he was doing his job. But her blue eyes … and her smile …

He realized that she was not eating anymore.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"Yes. It was a lovely tea, but I couldn't eat another bite."

"Should you like to hear about Narnia?"

She nodded eagerly and he launched into stories about Narnia in the summer. Tales from his grandfather, who had known the world before the winter. Festivals and romps and cool breezes on a summer day. He lost himself in them and came out of them with a start. Lucy stared at him with wide eyes.

"Not that it isn't always winter now," he said, trying to be more melancholy than bitter. He still had a job to do. He took down his panpipe with reluctance. But already he had wasted more time than was necessary. He needed to put the girl to sleep and then take her to the Queen. What happened afterward, well, it was none of his affair.

He played a wild and mournful tune, watching Lucy all the time. A strange range of emotions played across her face, sadness and happiness and weariness in quick succession. Her eyelids began to droop, and he played on. Almost, almost …

Then she sat up straight; her expressive blue eyes fixed on him as she got to her feet.

"Oh, Mr. Tumnus, I am sorry to interrupt you, and I do love that tune, but I must go home at once! The others will be wondering what's happened to me."

Tumnus had never considered the possibility that he might do something contrary to the Queen's orders. But this human child, this little girl … Lucy. What a beautiful name. But the Queen would be so angry. But if he took her to the Queen, he would never forgive himself. He dared a glance at the picture hanging over the mantel and found himself sobbing. Vaguely he could hear Lucy saying something, in tones of great concern, but could not make out the words. All he could think was,

"Traitor! Traitor! Is this what you've become? Plotting to take a young, innocent child to the Witch. How could you? What happened to all that your father taught you? I hate you! I hate you!"

He felt his shoulders being shaken. Lucy's voice in his ears shouting at him, scolding him, and he knew at once he could never do it.

Explaining it to her, through his tears, was a great relief. All the years he had waited for this moment, when he would bring the humans to the Queen … no, to the Witch. Hoping that then, she would recognize him, promote him, let him settle down and do what he wanted. And now, the weight of guilt was gone. Though he knew what she would do to him, and though that cowardly part of him, the part he hated so much, protested that he must kidnap Lucy rather than face the consequences of not doing so, his heart pounded with the terrible audacity of what he would do. But he must do it now, or he might lose his nerve; oh, how well he knew himself!

Slipping through the woods, keeping in the shadows, he felt his heart about to burst with the daring thing he was doing. To go against the Witch; it was almost thrilling. For the first time since … how long had it been? Years and years, twenty, at least, he found himself truly thinking of Spring. The thoughts were abstract; he knew nothing of it in truth. Words like green, warm-without-fire, flowers. The White Witch feared the humans. He had seen it in her eyes when she spoke of them to her. The old prophecies came into his mind. Four thrones at Cair Paravel. When they are filled, then Aslan …

Could it be that he had helped to save the prophecy? Could this little girl really be the beginning of something he could hardly comprehend? It was not until he had reached the lamp post that he realized Lucy had given him her handkerchief, and apparently he had used it while crying. Now, suddenly, keeping it seemed to be of great importance. A token? Something to remind him to do the right thing? A symbol of better days to come? Whatever it was, he had to keep it.

Surprisingly, Lucy was happy to allow him to do so. And then she ran back to her strange land, though not without a longing glance back.

He looked down at the handkerchief. Whatever the Witch did to him, he was quite sure that a chain of events had been set in motion that would ultimately bring her downfall; and with that thought, he was content.

Surely soon, all four of the promised children would enter the land. Though he might be a statue by then, indeed he was almost certain of it, they would not be without help.

He grasped the small square of linen in his hand and made his way towards the home of the Beavers.