Title: The True Meaning of Sacrifice

Rating: T for mildly graphic battle descriptions

Warnings: Very angsty, possibly somewhat OOC, slightly sappy. First fic in this 'verse. Movie-based.

Notes: This story is completely written; I will do my best to get it edited and posted without any major gaps.

Disclaimer: Tumnus, Lucy, and the other characters, as well as the world of Narnia, are solely the property of C.S. Lewis. No infringement or disrespect is intended.

Though the battle was long since over, the four Pevensie children were busier than ever. Lucy in particular found her cordial in high demand, as many had suffered at the hands of Jadis' troops. Those with minor injuries were helped back to camp and seen to by the healers; Lucy saved her cordial for those too wounded to make it back on their own. Because so many had awoken from grievous injuries to find her smiling over them, she was quickly gaining the reputation of something of an angel of mercy. Though her time was valuable, and the need for her cordial great, she always had a moment to spare for those she healed, exchanging a kind word or a smile, and sometimes a hug. Although unaware of it, she was steadily winning the hearts of the Narnians, and as the day drew on towards dusk the talk of her deeds and her kindness had spread to all corners of the camp.

Even if she had known this, however, Lucy would not have given it much though, because for her, the jubilation of the victory was tempered with loss. Many of the bodies over which she knelt would not respond to her aid, their skin cool and their lips untouched with breath. Though she was still young, the war-torn country from which she came had taught her early on that battles always demanded sacrifice, and the victorious paid their own prices as surely as the defeated. Aslan had gently advised her, as she knelt to pour a drop of cordial into the lifeless mouth of a young faun, not to waste it, for it was precious, and there were some who would be beyond her help. She had corked the bottle with trembling fingers, and brushed away the tears that fell upon her cheeks, then bent to kiss the still faun's brow before folding his hands across his chest and nodding to the great lion. He bowed back, wise amber eyes filled with sadness and pity; none so young should have to deal with such blows, he knew, but Narnia's need for the Pevensie children could not have waited for them to grow.

Lucy herself tried to take comfort in the many faces and creatures in which she was able to reawaken life, but the losses of the others was difficult for her to accept. Still, she knew the many who still lay wounded could not afford to wait while she grieved for those already lost; there were many whose lives still hung in the balance, and it would take every ounce of strength she had within her to see to them all.

Finally, as evening drew on and the sun's rays turned from golden to deep blood red, she began to trudge wearily back toward camp. She had searched the fields, with the help of those she had revived, and there were no more to be found who could still benefit from her fireflower juice. Clutching the now half-empty bottle in her hands, she found herself thinking that if she didn't get back and rest, and perhaps get some food, she might need some of it herself. Her eyelids drooped wearily; she had passed a long and difficult night with Susan as they lay over the body of Aslan, and what little sleep she had gotten had been fitful and unsatisfying. Then their race across the tundra to the witch's castle and back, then the battle itself, had taken a good deal out of her as well. Now that she knew she had helped all she could, the adrenaline which had kept her on her feet was fading quickly. She would get to the camp, and sleep—yes, a nice long nap should do nicely, then she could talk to the others and find some food, and figure out what was to happen now…

She paused, frowning, and turned back to squint at a cluster of rocks further down the ravine. She could have sworn she'd caught a glimpse of something as she passed, a flash of red between the shades of grey. She took a few steps backward, squinting—yes, there: between the larger two boulders, a piece of red fabric. There was something awfully familiar about it.

In fact, it looked an awful lot like—

Tumnus' scarf!

She gasped, all weariness forgotten, as she realized she hadn't seen the faun since they had arrived with Aslan and the second army. And it was so unlike Tumnus to leave her, even for a little while…

She scrambled down the path toward the boulders, heedless of the pebbles that scattered under her feet, making her skid unsteadily. Panic fluttered wildly in her breast like a caged sparrow, and tears already stung her wide, frightened eyes.

No, no, no…

She rounded the corner, then cried out in grief and horror, nearly falling to her knees at the sight that greeted her.

Tumnus lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other bent towards his midsection. His mouth was open and slack, as if in a silent scream, and protruding from between his ribs was the ugly black hilt of a dagger.

But it was his eyes that had caused her to cry in horror, for they were open, and vacant, staring upward at the darkening sky.

"No!" she screamed, and raced forward, dropping to her knees beside him. "No, no, Mr. Tumnus!" Forgetting herself for a moment, she grabbed his shoulders and shook them, hard. "Please, wake up! Wake up!"

He did not move, and Lucy suddenly realized she was not helping him by going into hysterics. Trying to slow her breathing, which was coming in great gasping sobs, she reached into her cloak and pulled out the cordial, though her fingers shook almost too badly to uncork it.

Blinking desperately, trying to see his face through the combined onslaught of tears and darkness, she leaned forward and tipped her wrist, allowing one ruby drop to fall. She had to stay the wild impulse to pour the whole contents of the bottle down his throat, if only to see him look at her and smile again…

She corked the bottle and set it aside, then, like Oreius had shown her, grabbed the dagger by the hilt and pulled in one smooth motion, placing her hand over the wound to staunch the blood flow—

--except there was no blood flow; the wound remained open, but apart from a droplet that ran between her fingers, it did not bleed the way a living wound should.

A choked cry escaped her, and she looked desperately towards Tumnus' face, but it remained motionless; the ruby drop glistened on his lower lip. She reached up and tilted his head back, and the drop trickled into his mouth, but when she released him, his head fell limply to the side, where it remained, unmoving.

"Mr. Tumnus," she whimpered, leaning over him and stroking the hair back from his brow with trembling fingers. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus, please…please don't leave me. I need you. Please…"

He did not answer her. And it was by this, more than anything, that Lucy truly knew he had gone.

The grief overwhelmed her. Added to the emotional weight she already carried and the weariness of the long day, it was simply too much. She collapsed, sobbing, onto his still chest, wrapping her arm around him and allowing the darkness to wash over her at last. She closed her eyes, and knew no more.