LOST AND FOUND

In my opinion, there is hardly anything worse than losing a friend, and a very close friend at that.

But even losing a friend to death is more bearable than losing a friend due to a fallout. Terence and Tumnus, as you can tell from my previous stories, are extremely good friends—but imagine what would happen if something happened between them, if they somehow "stopped" being friends. I decided to try it. As always, reviews are highly desired, and highly expected!

Characters (except Terence) © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media

Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

CHAPTER 1

"Who in the world could that be, at this hour?" demanded Beaver.

He and his wife, Mrs. Beaver, had just settled down to an inviting dinner of fish, hot bread, and stewed vegetables, when there sounded a sudden, sharp knock on their front door.

"I'll get that, dear." Mrs. Beaver carefully set aside the knife she used for the butter on the bread, and shuffled her way toward the door. When she unfastened the latch and drew the door aside, she was surprised to see their visitor was Terence. Terence, a young unicorn recently turned human, was wrapped in a long, heavy black cloak, and he looked very anxious and very troubled about something. Mrs. Beaver quickly got over her astonishment at the sight of the young man, and she smiled and greeted him very warmly, "Well, hello, Terence!"

Terence did not return her smile. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if fearing there was someone, or something, coming after him.

When he was looking Mrs. Beaver properly in the face, he said in a low, penitent voice, "Mrs. Beaver, forgive me. I don't mean to intrude—"

"Oh, no, no, dear," Mrs. Beaver gently reassured him, "it's quite all right. Do come inside, where it's warmer, and make yourself at home."

Terence didn't hesitate to accept her invitation.

Once the young man had stepped over the threshold, Mrs. Beaver took a moment to stick her head outside and glance around, but, as night had fallen by that time, it was too dark to really see anything. A thin gray mist shrouded the neighboring wood and veiled the ground. Everything was very quiet; no one else seemed to be lurking about.

There didn't appear any signs of real danger—none that Mrs. Beaver could make out.

Mrs. Beaver just shook her head, wondering what could possibly have Terence in such distress, and retreated into the dam, closing the door firmly after her.

"Well, Terence, my boy!" said Beaver congenially, as Terence approached the crude kitchen table. "You're just in time for supper. Would you care to join us?"

"Thanks, Beaver, but it's not food that I had in mind," Terence said, pulling his cloak from his shoulders and brushing his long white bangs out of his face.

Beaver stared at him in disbelief. "What, are you fasting?"

"No, hiding."

Mrs. Beaver, who had joined up with them by then, asked bewilderedly, "Hiding from what, dear?"

Terence said nothing, but only passed his cloak to her, before taking a tentative seat on one of the spare stools. Mrs. Beaver promptly went to hang up the cloak on a nearby hook on the wall, before she resumed her spot at the table next to her husband. As they were beavers, and everything within the dam was suited to their size, and as Terence was at least twice their height, the man's knees could be easily seen over the edge of the table while he sat. But the Beavers paid no mind to this, and Terence didn't seem to care.

"Fish, Terence?" Mrs. Beaver offered kindly. "Just recently caught, and fresh off the stove!"

Terence shook his head. "No, thank you, Mrs. Beaver."

"Are you sure, dear?"

"It's delicious," Beaver added enticingly. "Nice and tender, fried to perfection, with just a little dash of parsley and chives added for extra flavor."

Again, Terence shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm not really that hungry, anyway."

Beaver shook his head himself, and chided, "No wonder you're always so skinny, boy."

In truth, Terence really had quite a healthy appetite. Yet somehow, he always managed to remain on the lean side, although he was in excellent shape, very strapping and limber. And even though Terence had eaten nothing for some time, and he'd traveled a fair distance to Beaversdam, without any food or drink, somehow his hunger seemed to have vanished.

As Beaver reached for his glass of wheat beer, Mrs. Beaver said to Terence, "You mentioned you are in hiding, Terence. May I ask again just what it is you're trying to hide from?"

"It's not really a something, Mrs. Beaver," Terence murmured, "as it is more of a someone."

"Who?" Beaver asked, just before lifting his glass to his hairy lips and taking a swig.

Terence bowed his head, and answered, in a voice so soft the Beavers almost didn't hear him, "Tumnus."

Hearing this, Beaver accidentally spat his beer right back into the beaker. Wiping his mouth on the back of his paw, he said incredulously, "Excuse me?"

"Did you say 'Tumnus'?" asked Mrs. Beaver, every bit as stunned.

Terence did not look up, but the look of torment that twisted his handsome, youthful face said it all.

"You're hiding from your own best mate?" Beaver said, unable to believe it.

"He was my best mate," said Terence heavily, still not looking up. "But not anymore. After what happened between us, I'll never be able to look him in the face again."

Now the Beavers felt their disbelief melt into heartache.

Mrs. Beaver asked solicitously, "Oh, Terence, what happened?"

Beaver added gravely, "Must have been terrible to have cost you your relationship with Tumnus."

Terence buried his face in his hands. "Even more terrible than you can imagine," he groaned into his palms. "I can't bear to repeat it…but let it suffice for me to say the fault is entirely mine. I've done something completely awful to Tumnus, something I never truly intended to do, but I ended up doing it anyway."

"Oh, Terence," Mrs. Beaver whispered, and she immediately arose from her place, moved around the table, and put her small, soft brown arms around the devastated youth.

Beaver's mind reeled at the revelation. Terence and Tumnus had been the very best of friends for years. More than good friends, they were brothers.

They had always been on the best of terms with each other; they went together like icing on a cake. No one else in Narnia that Beaver knew of had ever been so warm and close-knit. What could Terence have done so horrible as to destroy such a long, beautiful relationship? It was as if the White Witch had started giving out flowers.

When Terence finally raised his head and opened his eyes, he pleaded with Mrs. Beaver, "May I stay here, with you? I can't very well stay at Cair Paravel, and I've got nowhere else to go."

"Of course, Terence," Mrs. Beaver soothed him. "You may stay, for as long as you like."

"For as long as it takes for you to patch things up with Tumnus," Beaver added.

"Then I may as well be here forever," said Terence miserably, sinking his head into his hands once more, shaking it slowly from side to side. The Beavers felt their hearts break for him at that, for both him and Tumnus. Mrs. Beaver held the poor man closer, stroking him as if he were her own little kit, and Beaver found he was no longer quite so thirsty for beer, nor quite so hungry for fish. After a few minutes, for the mere sake of having something to do with his hands, Terence said softly, "Here…I…I'll take some bread, I think."

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Terence or the Beavers, Tumnus the faun was huddled alone in a shadowy corner of a room at Castle Cair Paravel, with his legs drawn and his hands cradling his head. It was the very same room that used to belong to Terence, before the white-haired youth mysteriously disappeared.

Where he'd gone, nobody knew; but Tumnus was more than convinced this was all his fault. He had really let Terence have it earlier. The faun couldn't recall a time when he'd been any more livid, when he had shouted any louder. Aside from shouting, he said terrible things to Terence's face, things that he never told the young man before. Just thinking about the vicious words that sprang from his tongue was enough to make Tumnus sick. Most of those words, he didn't even remotely mean…but it was already too late, and the damage was already done.

Alone in the unlit room, hands over his feverish face, Tumnus repented of his appalling treatment of Terence, and wished with all of his heavy heart that his dear friend was here now, so that he could plead for the young man's forgiveness. Despite what Terence had done, Tumnus knew what he, himself, had done was inexcusable, and unforgivable.

The very last words he uttered to the youth were "I hate you".

Oh, dear Aslan, Tumnus thought inconsolably, what have I done? What have I done?

At that last thought, hot tears began to flow from the faun's eyes, running freely against his palms, and he bent down a little further and lapsed into a flood of wretched sobbing.

"You can sleep here, Terence," said Beaver, leading the young man into an alcove on one side of the dam that was reserved for special guests, opposite from where he and Mrs. Beaver usually slept. There was a fairly large mattress there, stuffed with clean, fresh straw, and there were several thick pillows and a coarse, handwoven blanket.

Overall, the bed wasn't much of a sight, but it looked reasonably comfortable. At any rate, it was better than sleeping outside, in the bitter cold.

"Thank you, Beaver," said Terence fervently. "This is far more than I deserve."

"It's no trouble at all, dear," said Mrs. Beaver, who had come up from behind with a mug of hot, frothy milk in her forepaws. As Terence tentatively seated himself on the rough coverlid, Mrs. Beaver shambled up to him and gently pressed the steaming mug into his hands. "Here," she insisted, "drink this. It will do you a world of good."

"Thank you," Terence mumbled again, and he took a few sips. Though the milk tasted wonderful, rich and creamy with a touch of vanilla, it did nothing to warm his spirits.

Terence eventually returned the mug to Mrs. Beaver, then he stretched himself out on the bed, leaving his clothes on. He rolled over onto his side, so that his back faced the Beavers. As he lay there, Mrs. Beaver tenderly covered him with the heavy blanket. "If you need anything, dear," she whispered to the young man, just before they left him in peace, "don't hesitate to let us know." Terence felt her paw brush lightly against him one last time, and he heard Beaver quietly bid him goodnight, but he neither moved nor responded in any way.

When the Beavers had gone, Terence did not go to sleep, but rather remained wide-awake.

He could feel his loneliness enclosing him, like the bars of a cage, and he began to tremble. He had often been on his own throughout his life, but never before had he felt this alone. The loss of Tumnus was like a raw, gaping wound on Terence's heart, and knowing there was no one to blame for this except himself only made the pain all the more agonizing.

Without Tumnus, he had nothing left. There was nothing left to live for, nothing left to hope for or believe in.

Terence yearned from the very root of his soul to go back to the faun, to go back to Cair Paravel…but he knew he could never go back.

He could never show his face to Tumnus, or anyone at the Cair, ever again. This was where he belonged, now. This modest dam was his new home.

Terence closed his eyes, feeling warm tears pooling up within them, and he turned and buried his face deep in his pillow, so that the Beavers would not hear him cry himself to sleep.