Forged in Winter

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,

At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,

When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,

And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone,

Sits at Cair Paravel in throne,

The evil time will be over and done.

- The Golden Age Prophesy

            My father would read this to me.  In hushed tones, he would pull me closer to the fire and tell me stories of Aslan, of His return, and life before this dreadful winter.  He would show me pictures of spring, of green grass, and of flowing streams.  “This is why we fight, son,” he’d say, “to see Narnia restored, to set Narnia free.”  

“You have done well to accept the summons of the Queen of Narnia.  Those who have refused to enter her service will suffer much more than the loss of a few coins.  You have been summoned because each of you is a key member of your community.  You hear much of what goes on in the Wood.  You shall be the Queen’s eyes and ears.  Far more important than simple spies, your primary concern is the prophecy.  Your Queen will not suffer any challenge to her throne.  Any rumor of a Son of Adam, or Daughter of Eve in this Wood must be reported to the Queen immediately.  If you ever find a human, you must bring it to her.  For this task, you will be handsomely rewarded, however, betrayal will not be tolerated.  Punishment and death will be your recompense if you refuse to comply.”

            The Dwarf looked up from the parchment, and noticed me as I shuddered.  He grunted, “Stop shaking, Faun!”  He added, under his breath, “Her Majesty can make you stop moving altogether.”  With a laugh, he stepped up into the sleigh, whipped the white reindeer, and drove off into the trees.  The Witch didn’t utter a single word during the whole proclamation.  She simply sat in the sleigh, striking fear into any who dared observe her.

            My father would be ashamed of me.  Ninety years ago, he waged war against the Witch. I joined her.  Narnians remembered warriors such as him.  They wrote songs about the hopelessness of victory, about the strength of the people.  When Aslan abandoned Narnia to the Witch, they still fought for their families, for their home, for Him.  I gave in to despair.  We look similar.  We are nothing alike.  He was strong.  I am weak.  He died fighting for freedom.  I will survive by giving mine up. 

***

            White snow blanketed the Wood.  This white was not bright or inviting; it was cold and bitter.  The snow used to signal the start of celebration.  The Wood was once joyful.  Music floated across the wind, the snowflakes would dance before our eyes, and we would go hunting after the White Stag, or search for treasure with the Red Dwarves.  The snow no longer danced.  It burdened the trees. The trees no longer moved.  The waters no longer sang.   All was frozen. Always Winter, never Christmas: the snow was not a reason to celebrate.  It was a symbol of oppression. 

            Such was my train of thought the day my world was shattered.  I was merely walking home when I met the strangest creature.  It had the height of a dwarf, but no beard, and its dimensions were all wrong.  From the waist up, it was built more like a Faun, though I daresay, I couldn’t understand to where its hooves and horns had run off.  In fact, it looked like my concept of a Daughter of Eve. 

***

            My flute lay shattered on the floor.  Wretched Faun!  I never thought I would ever see a human this far North.  When I met Lucy, I only thought of myself—my punishment if I rebelled against the Witch.  How blind I was to our salvation.  Lucy could bring the end of this dreadful winter.  I am such a terrible Faun.  I kidnapped this innocent girl, intending to give her over to the Witch!  I told her tales of Narnia, pretended to befriend her, made the fire dance to my flute, then sent her off to sleep with my song.  I showed her pictures of merriment, of spring: Dryads and Nymphs dancing with the Fauns for hours on end.  Hunting parties chased the White Stag across my fireplace.  As she drifted off to sleep, I rejoiced—I grieve at my joy—that my task was almost completed.  Then an image I had not conjured entered my hearth.  It was He: the Great Lion.  The true King of Narnia.  His face appeared in the fire, larger and brighter than any previous image.  He looked quite alive, and his face shocked me into silence.  Then he roared.

***

I knocked on the door.  The sound of rustling reached my ears: drawers being opened and

closed.  Dead silence.  Then a poorly crafted peephole was opened. 

“Tumnus!  Never thought I’d see you on my doorstep.”

“Please let me in.  I have news that is best not revealed out of doors”

The peephole shut quickly.  The sound of a rustling key in the lock.  Beaver let me inside, cautiously sipping from a mug, eyes darting to and fro—obviously looking to see if there was any illegal goods that he had missed in his rush.  Mrs. Beaver quietly entered from another room.

“Alright, let’s have this news.  You haven’t come to spy on me, have you?” 

 It was generally known that I was in the Witch’s employ.

“Beaver, I’ve met a human.”

            I discovered what he had been sipping as scalding hot coffee sprayed into my eyes.

“Beaver!”

            That was Mrs. Beaver.  She scolded him as he tried to stop guffawing. 

“’I’ve met a human?’ Coming from him? I can’t help myself, dear.” 

More laughter.

“Well, it’s nothing to laugh about.” 

She turned to me.

“What do you mean?”

I told them everything.  With each detail, they became more and more solemn.  I almost skimmed over the part about the fire, but they stopped me when I mentioned Aslan.       

“You don’t know, do you?”

            He lowered his voice.

“Aslan is on the move.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Others have seen him.  He might already be in the Wood!”

“Then there is hope.”

“Hope?  There is more than hope!  This is Aslan’s return: foretold in the prophecy.  He’s just got back and now you tell me you’ve met a Daughter of Eve?  Oh, we have hope, we have much more than hope, my friend.”

***

            I am a traitor.  I have betrayed Aslan and my kinsman through entering the Witch’s service.  Now I have betrayed her by aiding a human.  I don't belong in either camp.  I am an enemy to both sides.  Even when telling Beaver about Lucy, he thought I was spying on him.  I know that my allegiance lies with Aslan, but will he accept me?  After years of infidelity, I am no better than any of her loyal servants.  I agreed to serve her, just as they did.  I almost carried through with my orders.  Saving Lucy was the right choice; I know that much.  Now I must deal with the consequences.

            The wind picks up.  As I make my way back to the Beavers’ Dam, it begins to snow again.  I am almost blinded as the storm grows into a blizzard.  Forced to take refuge, I hide under a tree.  Through the deafening sound of the storm, I hear whispers in the forest.  Tumnus.  The trees rarely talked in those days.  Something must have awoken them.  I hear my name echoed across the Wood: silently whispered by each tree that hears.  Humans in the Wood…  I begin to tremble.  The Witch knows.  You name has reached her.  Terrified, I run the rest of the way, ignoring the storm, ignoring the trees, ignoring their voices.

            I knock on the door.  “Tumnus!  It’s Tumnus!  Let me in!”  I yell into the wind.

“Alright, alright!  I don’t see why you couldn’t wait this blizzard out somewhere sensible, instead of barging in here, letting the cold in…”

“Beaver, the Witch knows about Lucy.”

            He is silenced.

“…and, Aslan?”

“I don’t know.  The trees didn’t mention his name.”

“The trees?  How do they know?”

“They didn’t say.”

Mrs. Beaver offers me a blanket, which helps considerably. 

“It was going to happen sooner or later.  We should be grateful that the trees told us this so quickly.  Now we can prepare for her next move.”

            Mrs. Beaver chimes in.

“Of course, we’ll keep you safe from her.  Beaver has plenty of safe havens that none of her spies know about.”

            Instantly solemn, Beaver firmly states,

“Tumnus, you can’t hide from the Witch.” 

            I look up with a start.

“If Lucy returns, we need you to guide her to the Stone Table.  She needs to know where to find Aslan.”

***

A knock on my door.  A knock so powerful, that the door splinters.  The Wolves enter my cave.  The largest growls at the others, “Tear it apart!”  He is holding a piece of parchment.  “Oh,” he snarls, “Would you like to read it, Faun?”  Snickering, he hands it to me.

The former occupant of these premises, the Faun Tumnus, is under arrest and awaiting trial on a charge of High Treason against her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands, etc., also of comforting her said Majesty’s enemies, harboring spies, and fraternizing with Humans.

            Signed MAUGRIM, Captain of the Secret Police,

LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

I knew this day would come.  I gave Beaver Lucy’s handkerchief for safekeeping.  He promised to guide her and her siblings if anything happened to me.  This parchment signals the end of my part in their story.  “I will be needing that back.”  The Wolf snatches it from my trembling hands.  The rest of the Wolves parade around my home, knocking over furniture haphazardly.  They begin throwing books, letters, small items into the fire.  One of them lifts the picture of my father.  I bolt towards him, knocking it out of his hand.  The shattering sound of its frame attaches itself to the crushing blow of a club on the back of my head.  The world fades to darkness.

***     

Shackles.  My hands are held together by iron strengthened by the Witch’s ice.  My hooves are similarly restrained.  Even without them, I wouldn’t run anywhere soon: my legs are broken—a punishment particularly reserved for treacherous Fauns.  The guards drag me across the floor of the Witch’s palace.  Because I can’t stand, they connect my chains to two pillars that support the house, holding me upright.  If I only had the strength, I would bring down these pillars and the Witch with them.  Hanging from my chains, my legs uselessly graze the floor.  Mercifully, the cold numbs the pain.  Awaiting trial: that’s what the notice reads.  If only I could hope for something so humane.  My “trial” is more of an interrogation. 

“Do you know why are you here?” 

            My only thought is survival.  Weeping, I reply,

“I don’t, your Majesty!”

“Do you think flattery will aid you here?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean to ignore my direct orders?  Didn’t mean to shelter my enemies—to stir up rebellion?  You certainly didn’t mean to be caught, Faun, and yet all of these have been accomplished.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I have made it clear to you.”

            There was no escaping this.  No victory in sight. 

“Why are you here, Faun?”

I immediately think of my father.  Completely outnumbered with no hope of victory, yet his spirit was unbreakable.  I am weak—as a rule, Fauns are not the sturdiest of creatures—but some spark of courage gives me boldness.

“Must I repeat myself?”

“I hang here before you…because I believe…in a free Narnia.”

            The Witch is silent for a moment,

“…and who shall bring about this freedom?”

            I don’t dare reveal Aslan’s presence yet.

“Those who have been foretold in the prophecy: the very Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve who you charged me to capture: the very ones who I aided, who I hid from you, and who I have kept alive, be it for one more day.”

“The very ones who turned you in.”

            This barely fazes me.  Lucy would never…

            I hear something behind me but I can’t move to look. 

“Edmund, won’t you come forward so the Faun can see?”

            A guard holds a young boy in front of me. 

“This is your salvation.  He is your future.  This ‘true king of Narnia’ turned you in for spite of his family.  And don’t take reassurance in your ploy to hide Aslan from me, Edmund has told me all.  I know about the children’s journey to the Stone Table.”

Once again, my world is shattered by a human. 

***

My chains are released.  My body collapses on the ground.  The procedure is briefly described to me by the guard.  I will be held up by my chains once again.  It will be a fairly quick occurrence but I will be able to feel my limbs go dead.  The spell will wind its way to my head last.  I should have been terrified.  In some corner of my mind, my fears are let loose.  On the surface, I am surprisingly calm. 

I am going to my death.  This is my burden to bear.

As I am dragged across the floor, I no longer see the Witch’s palace.  I see Narnia set free.  It might be a trick of the light but I see snow melting off the statues lining the courtyard.  As I am guided to my position, I see snow melting off the trees.  I see rivers and lakes and streams flowing once again.  I hear the music of midnight dancing.  I see the Nymphs and Dryads dancing with the Fauns in the clearing.  Leaves are changing color, falling from the trees.  Snow, real snow, is dancing on the breeze.  I hear the laugh of Father Christmas, feel the heat of the fireplace, and smell the Christmas dinner.

            These visions leave me. 

My chains are secured to other statues.  A Centaur and a Dog support my weight.  One is perpetually brandishing a sword; the other’s face contorts into an eternal whimper.  One seems to mock my weakness; the other echoes my cries of pain.  I prepare to join my kinsman, not in glory, but in defeat.  I am certainly not strong like my father but I will not be denied this opportunity to join him in Aslan’s country.  The wait is agony.  My chest rises and falls as I struggle for breath.  The burden is too great.  I can barely lift myself to breathe.  I gasp for air, though the cold rush of frost intensifies my pain.  The Witch storms out of the castle.  She slows as she nears me.  My head bowed, I fix my eyes on the ground in front of me.  Her wand is raised to strike but she lowers it.  It gently nicks my left hoof.  Instantly, it turns to stone.  Too fast to allow for thought, the spell races through my body, robbing me of warmth, of life.  I scream, but life ends before sound escapes me.

***

            Warmth flowing across my face.  My hair rustling from some unknown wind.  A fire ignites in my chest and begins to spread.  I am awakening.  Darkness turns to haze and haze fades to clarity.  I see Him.  His face creases into a smile as I begin to breathe.  Instantly, my fears leave me.  I know that I am forgiven.  I am no longer a traitor in His eyes.  I am a member of His army.  He bounds away and my legs give out from under me.  They are no longer frozen.  Lucy comes into view and helps me stand.  My legs have been made whole.  They are strong.  Looking around me, I see other Narnians waking up.  The Centaur to my right fastens his sword to his back.  The Dog steps forward, snarling.  It is clear that the battle against the Witch is not won yet.  I have been rescued, but not to idleness.  I have been reclaimed for battle.