MISSING PIECES

Just a little something I'd put together for Father's Day. It's nothing too fancy, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, be sure to send me feedback on this!

A very happy Father's Day to you all, and to your dads. Hope it's a good one.

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

Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

"May I join you, Terence?"

Terence, who was sitting in the shade of a large almond tree, drifting at the edge of sleep, gave a slight start at the voice that addressed him. Looking up, he saw it was only his friend, Tumnus.

Patches of the bright afternoon sunlight peeking through the leaves played across the faun's face and shoulders and made his gold-brown hair gleam.

Being a faun, Tumnus's only article of clothing was a single scarf, though a very elegant one, made of rich green silk with gold tassels at the ends. In contrast, Terence was almost completely covered in a solid black, skin-tight tunic under a much more loose-fitting blue robe trimmed with gold and tied at the waist with a black belt, along with black hosiery on his legs and sleek brown boots that barely went past his ankles. He even had a heavy blue-black mantle that draped around his neck in the same casual fashion as Tumnus's scarf. His robe almost matched his sapphire eyes, and at the same time contrasted vividly with his hair and beard, both of which were as white as the moon in spite of his smooth, young-looking face.

Though Terence looked like a man, he was actually a unicorn that had been turned human, which explained a lot about him, such as his hair, his unusually good looks, and why he was constantly so poised and elegant. Yet Terence was far from conceited about his looks and charm; a little cocky at times, yes, but not truly narcissistic. He was very warm and friendly, with a noble spirit, and he was the best friend Tumnus had ever had.

If they'd shared the same blood, they could not have been closer.

In response to Tumnus's question, Terence nodded and said in his lilting accent, "Have a seat, mate."

Tumnus settled quietly onto the cool grass next to his companion. It took a bit of time, since Tumnus walked on the legs of a goat and he had to adjust them a certain way so he could sit comfortably.

Once he was properly seated, he slid in just a little closer to Terence, so that their shoulders touched. Terence did not object. Tumnus then leaned back against the trunk of the tree and sighed contentedly.

They remained like that for a time, neither saying a word to the other. Even so, Tumnus could tell Terence was troubled about something.

At length, he asked the young man, "You all right, Terence?"

"Hmm?"

"I sense there's something on your mind. If so, would you mind telling me what it is?"

Terence sighed, amazed at how perceptive his mate was. "You'll have to forgive me, Tumnus. Nothing personal, really—but I'd rather not discuss it."

Tumnus saw no point in arguing. "Very well. Have it your way."

Less than ten minutes later, however, Terence did speak up.

"If you must truly know," said the white-haired youth submissively, "it concerns my father."

"What about your father?"

"Today is the day they call Father's Day, is it not?"

"That's what Lucy and Edmund told me."

Shifting somewhat uneasily in his spot, Terence said, "Well, with this being a day dedicated to fathers…naturally, it makes me think of my own father, assuming I even have one."

"Of course, you do, mate. It takes two to make a child, don't you know that?"

Terence ignored Tumnus's weak attempt at humor.

"Despite not knowing my father," he said, brushing his fingers absently through his thick, luminous locks, as he often did, "having never met him in all my life, I can't help but wonder where he is now, if he's still alive…if he's at all aware of my existence." He paused, then added very slowly, speaking the words as if they hurt him, "And worst of all—why did he leave us in the first place? Why would he turn his back on us? Didn't he want us anymore?"

Tumnus's heart went out to the boy.

He slipped a gentle arm around Terence's shoulders, wanting to say something to console him but at a loss of what to say. He didn't know Terence's father any better than Terence did, and while he knew it was not for him to judge, he too wondered why Terence's father would do such a thing. From the way the faun viewed it, there was nothing worse than being abandoned, to have someone you loved intentionally leave you in the cold.

"As if that weren't enough," Terence continued, "I'm at an utter loss of why my mother never told me about my father. I mean, every time I asked her, she would tell me very little, or else she would say nothing at all."

Now sinking his forehead into his hands, the boy's voice grew increasingly strained as he said, "Why didn't she just come out and say it? Why didn't she tell me the truth?"

"Maybe the truth simply hurt too much," said Tumnus, who knew all about painful truths and the terrible effect they could have. "Maybe your mother was only trying to spare you the pain."

"Maybe so," said Terence, head still cradled in his hands, sounding dejected. "In a way, she's made it easy for me—and in other ways, she's made it so much harder. Now that my mother is gone, I don't know if I'll ever know the truth; if I'll ever find out for myself who my father is, or was, and why he didn't care enough to be there. That's what truly gets to me."

When Terence finally looked up again, Tumnus informed him, "I know how you feel, mate."

"How can you? You don't even have a father yourself." Immediately Terence repented of his rash words, and the look on Tumnus's face made the youth wish he could take them back.

Tumnus closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

When the faun finally spoke, his voice was quiet, though laced with pain. "I have a father. I just haven't seen him in a very long time."

"Why? Did he go somewhere?"

"He's dead."

Tumnus said this so plainly and with such evident sorrow that Terence's heart tripped a beat. Even after his heart had resumed its regular beating, he felt his stomach turn to ice.

"Oh, Tumnus, I'm sorry. I-I didn't know…"

"It's all right, Terence. Of course, you had no way of knowing. It happened ages ago, long before I met you, before I met Lucy and all the others—before the dreadful Long Winter commenced."

"What happened?" Terence feared to ask.

"My father was a brave soldier who went to war against the White Witch. In fact, he was the one who led the army. Alas, he lost the fight with the Witch, along with his life."

"That's terrible!"

Tumnus nodded and wiped away a solitary tear that had begun to trickle down his face. "What makes it even more terrible was that he and I had not been on the best of terms with one another when he died. We did horrible things to each other, said awful words that I can't bear to repeat. In the end, my father simply walked out on me…and that was the last I saw of him."

Terence was stunned. By comparison, his own problems seemed almost trivial.

He wished to say something adequate, but like Tumnus, he was totally stuck.

Brushing away another tear, Tumnus continued, "Even after all these years, I've yet to completely get over my father's death. Everything at my old cave reminds me of him. Sometimes I can't even pass the guest bedroom—which used to be his bedroom—without breaking down. Sometimes I swear I can hear his step, along with his gruff voice. Even to this day, I would gladly trade in everything I have in the world to get him back."

"I'm sorry, Tumnus." Terence shook his head. "I'm so sorry about your father."

"And I'm sorry about yours. In a way, Terence, you're lucky. At least you never had to deal with the anguish of actually seeing your father go like that."

"But you knew who your father was, mate. And I'm not saying being dead is better, but you know where he is now, without a doubt. You'll never have to wonder the way I do."

Tumnus sighed, and now he was the one to rake his fingers distractedly through his untamed curls.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, one way or another," the faun said ruefully. "Whether alive or dead, it really doesn't make much of a difference—not having your father in your life is painful enough by itself."

"You can say that again," said Terence, just as ruefully. He sighed as well, closing his eyes briefly and dragging a hand down his face. "Ah, well…I don't mean to put a damper on your day, mate, but I did want you to know how I feel."

"That's all right," Tumnus gently assured the boy. "I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me this."

The white-haired youth couldn't repress a small smile as he replied, "I'm glad I've got somebody I can trust."

Giving his friend a genial pat on the back, Tumnus said, "Whoever your father is, Terence, wherever he is, one thing about him is for certain."

"What's that?"

"He's got one fine son."

Terence took one look into the faun's sky-blue eyes and knew he meant what he'd just said. It touched Terence to no small degree. "I could say the same about your father," the youth whispered, emotion closing his throat.

Tumnus now wrapped Terence in both arms, and Terence readily slipped his own arms around the faun in exchange. They clung to each other like that for a long time, neither in a hurry to let the other go. Terence tried to put many unspoken things into that embrace, and Tumnus must have understood them, for he cupped the boy's cheek briefly in his palm when they were finally facing each other properly again, and kissed him lightly on his brow.

After another lengthy while, Tumnus was the first to rise to his feet, and he offered Terence a hand, which Terence was more than glad to accept.

"Come on," said Tumnus. "What do you say we go and have the rest of that ginger cake I'd put together the other day? There's a load of fresh strawberries to go with it," he added meaningfully, knowing how Terence felt about strawberries.

Terence agreed vigorously. "A most capital idea, mate. I like your way of thinking!"