FRAGILE HEARTS

This isn't supposed to be anything too fancy. I wrote this at a time, not so long ago, when I was feeling pretty down. It helped to ease the ache.

I find writing to be very good therapy. Oftentimes, the mood of a scene is parallel to my own mood. Don't forget to review!

Tumnus and Narnia © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media/Fox

Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

Most of the time, Terence was a sound sleeper. But that night, as the young unicorn turned human huddled alone under his covers in his chamber at Cair Paravel, he could barely sleep a wink. Though the hour was very late, though his limbs felt like lead weights and his eyes felt like sandpaper, he just couldn't get his mind to shut off. His breath escaped him in short, irregular tatters.

His heart wouldn't stop thudding painfully against his ribcage, nor would his mind stop straying to the awful events of that day.

Terence didn't know what had happened, or how he might have been the cause of it. All he truly knew was what Tumnus had said to him three days earlier, and the terrible effect it'd had on him.

Tumnus—the young faun who had been Terence's dearest, sweetest, most precious friend, the closest thing he had to a brother.

Or so he thought.

Even after all the tears Terence had shed the last three days, new ones welled up in his ocean-blue eyes at the stinging memory.

The day had started out like any other. Terence had been sharing his breakfast with Tumnus. Since it was a nice day, with a clear, cloudless sky and an idyllic breeze, they ate on one of the outer balconies of the Cair.

Neither of the two said much at first, focusing mainly on the food and the pleasant weather. Even so, Terence sensed that Tumnus was troubled about something. When the youth asked the faun outright if he was feeling all right, Tumnus wouldn't look at him, but instead kept his gaze fixed on his cup of tea as he stirred it around languorously. When Tumnus did finally speak, Terence would never forget the words that came out of his mouth.

Slowly, haltingly, Tumnus told Terence that perhaps it would be the best thing for them both—and for everyone at the Cair—if they didn't stay together, if they didn't hang around each other so much anymore.

At first, Terence was sure his mate had to be joking. But when it finally hit him that Tumnus was dead serious, the white-haired boy was so stunned he nearly dropped his cup and saucer on the floor. For a full minute or so, a minute that seemed to span an eternity, Terence could neither move nor speak. When he found his tongue in the end, all he could sputter was, "B-but—but, why, mate?"

Tumnus shook his head, and his face looked sadder than Terence ever remembered seeing it look. "I'm sorry, Terence," the faun answered, in a voice almost too soft to be heard. "I thought long and hard about this, and I realized that…" He stopped, wavered for a time, before he was able to go on. "We're just two completely different people. We live two totally separate lives. We're about as different as any pair can possibly get. We're like trees and stones, like winter and spring."

"Our differences didn't used to bother you before," Terence countered, not even realizing he'd said that until it was too late.

Tumnus made a grimace, as if he were experiencing physical pain. But he said nothing in reply, and he still ambivalently avoided direct eye contact with Terence.

Terence could hardly believe what his ears were hearing. All these years they'd been together, been closer than bark on a tree, and now Tumnus was telling him they were better off without each other? "So, this is what it all comes to?" the boy asked, unable to stop himself. "You're simply throwing me and our friendship away, like a load of useless rubbish?"

Tumnus said nothing. He simply lowered his head and covered his face with one hand, blocking out Terence and everything else around him.

Terence's tone grew softer, almost pleading. "Come on, mate. You're my best friend, the best I have in Narnia, or anywhere else in the world. You're my brother. We've stood by each other this long. Whatever the problem is, we can surely work it out."

But all Tumnus would say was that he was sorry, and then he just stood up and trudged back into the castle, despite Terence's protests. The faun's shoulders sagged lower than usual, his head hung abjectly to his chest, and there was a definite falter in his step. Not once did he stop, however, and not once did he look back. "Tumnus!" Terence cried after him. "Tumnus, come back! Come back! I need you!"

Tumnus kept going.

"I'm your brother!" Terence wailed, his voice rising significantly in volume and intensity, tears blurring his eyes. "I'm your brother!"

Even so, Tumnus kept walking, until he had disappeared completely from Terence's sight…and his life.

Terence was nothing short of devastated. It felt as though his very heart had been torn right out of his chest.

How could Tumnus do this to him?

How could the faun throw him out of his life just like that? Didn't he want Terence anymore? Wasn't Terence good enough for him anymore?

Had Terence ever been good enough to begin with?

In the two days that followed, rage and sorrow burned in Terence like fire. Everything he could get his hands on, he threw it with every ounce of his strength, and the other residents of the Cair, including the soldiers, learned to stay well out of his way. He'd screamed every curse he could think of, howled like a dying animal, shed so many tears it was really a miracle he didn't flood out the whole castle.

But now, here in his bed, the youth only felt cold and empty, like a hollow shell.

On the outside, he was Terence; inside, there was nothing.

What was he supposed to do now? What did he have to live for and hope for now? Who could he trust now? He had trusted Tumnus, and Tumnus betrayed him.

Just when he'd believed there was somebody for him in this vast, lonely world, it proved too good to be true. All Terence wanted now was to be dead—to be free of this misery, this ungodly pain.

Yet as the boy lay there in a forlorn heap, heedless of the tears that were seeping steadily into his pillow, he slowly became aware that someone was with him, in that very room.

He felt a light hand on his shoulder, heard a gentle whisper in his ear. "Terence? Terence, are you awake?"

If Terence hadn't heard that voice, he wouldn't have believed it. It was none other than Tumnus himself. Sure enough, when Terence dared to turn his head and lift his eyes, there stood the faun, bent low over him, gazing down solicitously at him. His face was half-illuminated in the blue-white light of the moon that streamed in through the window. Even in the dimness of the room, Terence could tell the faun hadn't slept any better than he had.

The sight of his former friend caused fresh pain to stab at Terence's heart. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to Tumnus's face, but the only words that found their way off his tongue were, "What are you doing here, Tumnus?"

"I'm sorry, Terence," said Tumnus meekly as he settled quietly onto the mattress at his companion's side. "I'm sorry to disturb you like this…but I needed to see you, to talk to you. I couldn't put it off any longer."

At an earlier time, Terence would have been furious with the faun, would have thrown him out on the spot, but now he didn't have the energy for it. However, as the white-haired youth hauled himself to a sitting position, there was a noticeably cool edge to his voice as he said, "I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with me. I thought you said we were better off without each other."

Tumnus bowed his head. "That's what I need to talk to you about."

Something in the faun's posture and tone of voice spoke to Terence's heart, and Terence felt himself slowly softening in spite of himself. When Tumnus revealed his face a moment later, Terence caught sight of a glint of tears.

"Oh, Terence," the faun blurted out, his voice thick with grief and remorse, "please forgive me. I am so sorry. You'll never know how sorry I am for what I've done to you. I was wrong. The truth is, I don't want to live without you. I—I can't make it without you." Shaking his head woefully, he lamented, "I can't believe I had the gall to say that in the first place, or even think it."

Fresh tears sprang up in Terence's eyes as well. Throat too tight to permit proper speech, he could only sit and stare at Tumnus, who looked as if he wanted desperately to hug him.

Tumnus did start to reach out to Terence, but instead he turned away and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," the faun moaned again, his palms muffling his anguished voice. "I know I hurt you, Terence. More than anything, I wish I could take it all back. I don't deserve you, but I want to try to make things right with you. Forgive me. Give me another chance. Tell me there's still hope for the two of us. Please, Terence, I beg you."

The plea sounded sincere, and Terence felt his bitterness and hurt from the last three days drain from him like water through a spigot. His own tears began to flow freely as he reached out for his dear Tumnus and pulled him closer.

Tumnus lay limply in the youth's arms, and all he could do was sob while Terence held him, stroked him, kissed him a thousand times over, and whispered into his ear those sweet, healing words:

"I forgive you, Tumnus…my sweet friend, my beloved brother. I forgive you, and I love you."