ABSOLUTION

Man, I'm really stoked about this story! In all my previous tales, Tumnus and Edmund get along exceptionally well. Then, one day, I got to thinking: what if it was just the opposite? What if it was a complete 180-degree turnaround, and Tumnus was angry and bitter towards Edmund? What if he wasn't so eager to let bygones be bygones? Hence, this story came about. Tumnus and Edmund have no association whatsoever in the book (not on a personal level), and in the original movie, I noticed that Tumnus did appear just a bit cool towards Edmund. He didn't exactly smile and bow to him, the way he did with Lucy and Susan. I'm more than convinced that he warms up to Edmund, one day or another, but that scene proved to be the extra fuel for my imagination tanks.

You know the routine, folks. I expect you to review this when you're through (and I won't break your arm or lock you in the basement if you don't), and if you're gonna flame, you are dismissed.

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

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

"Now instead, you ought to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow."

~ 2 Corinthians 2:7 (NIV)

"Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future."

— Paul Boese

PART 1

At first, Tumnus tried to ignore the leaf of parchment that lay on his pillow. But in the end, he found himself picking it up, and reading the words that were scrawled onto it. It was a brief yet solemn message, expressing a heartfelt apology to Tumnus and petitioning the faun's forgiveness. The script was somewhat shaky and disjointed, as if the hand that wrote the letter couldn't quite hold the quill steady. Edmund's name was signed at the very bottom. When Tumnus read the name of Narnia's so-called "Just King", a sharp frown crossed his face.

He dared to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, young King Edmund himself stood in the doorway of the faun's private chambers, watching him fearfully and hopefully.

Tumnus said not a word to him, but only deliberately ripped the letter into pieces before his eyes.

First, he tore the parchment in half, then into fourths, then into eighths. Edmund shrank back slightly at the sight and sound of the terrible ripping. Every tear was like a tear to his own heart.

Tumnus made the pieces as small as he could manage, before finally tossing the shreds into the pile of cool ashes in his fireplace and casually dusting off his hands, one against the other. He still had not spoken one word in all that time, but he had made his point crystal-clear. Edmund wanted Tumnus to forgive him, and Tumnus flat-out refused to do so. Edmund only stood where he was, looking ready to cry. The look on his face would have melted anyone else's heart, but Tumnus was too angry and too resentful toward the boy to care.

It was already too late. The time for explanations and excuses was long past. Tumnus didn't care about why or how things came about the way they did.

All he cared about was that what had happened had happened.

If Edmund expected them to kiss and make up, as easily as that, the boy had another thing coming.

Ultimately, Tumnus did approach Edmund, but only because the faun wanted to move to another room in the Cair, and Edmund was blocking his path.

Rather than ask politely, Tumnus said, quite coldly, "Would you get out of my way?"

Edmund's eyes glistened with unshed tears. His lower lip began to tremble, like a small child's. In a small, almost inaudible voice, the boy pleaded, "Mr. Tumnus, please…forgive me."

"Don't waste your breath," Tumnus answered unsympathetically.

"I'm sorry." One of the tears escaped and slid down Edmund's cheek, leaving a diamond trail. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Tumnus. I-I didn't mean to land you in trouble. I didn't think the Witch—"

"You didn't 'think'," Tumnus cut in. "That's the very problem with you, isn't it, Edmund Pevensie?" He spat the name out like it tasted nasty. "You don't think."

"I didn't intend for any of this to happen," said Edmund, a noticeable crack in his voice. "I never meant any harm, really I didn't. I'm sorry I told the Witch about you, Mr. Tumnus. I'm sorry I got your house destroyed, got you arrested…got you turned to stone." He nearly choked on that last bit. "I'm sorry for…for everything."

"Why should I believe you, Edmund? What reason do I have to trust you? You betrayed me. You betrayed us all. You were willing to sell out even your own sister, your very family!"

Edmund's tears began to fall more steadily at these harsh yet accurate words.

"I know," he moaned, sounding like he was being tortured. "I know you're right, Mr. Tumnus. I'm just sorry, okay?"

Tumnus was far from finished. "Do you truly expect me to simply forget about all that's happened," the faun demanded tersely, "act like everything's suddenly all right between you and me? After the hell you put me through, you expect me to pat you on the head and say that it's all right, that it was just a little mistake you made and I know you'll never do it again?"

Edmund bowed his head.

"No," he said tremulously, as he watched his tears spill to the floor. "I just…" He paused, drawing in a quivering breath. "I just don't want you to hate me, Mr. Tumnus."

Tumnus did not relent, but said in the same clipped tone, "Everyone else around here may accept you as their king, but you're no king of mine. The only reason I bothered to place that crown on your head was because all eyes were on me at the time, and I couldn't very well crown three out of four. You may be part of the prophecy, you may be one of the foretold Monarchs of Narnia—but I know the truth about you. You're nothing but a liar, and a coward. I refuse to forgive you, and I swear henceforth to have nothing to do with you, in any way, ever again."

Edmund closed his eyes, feeling as if a great crack had split his heart, right down the middle.

"Now, stand aside," Tumnus ordered.

Slowly, without another word, Edmund obeyed. Tumnus marched briskly past him, never sparing so much as a sidelong glance, and was soon gone.

When the faun was out of sight, and the sound of his hard hooves faded into silence, Edmund slumped back against the frame of the door in defeat. Very slowly, he let himself slide downward, all the way to the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and let the tears flow freely. What was he to do? What more could he do? Aslan had forgiven him for what he'd done. His brother and his sisters had forgiven him. The Beavers, along with Oreius and all the rest of Narnia, appeared to have forgiven him as well, as far as he knew. Why couldn't Tumnus?

Yet Edmund couldn't say he blamed the faun for being so angry.

In his mind's eye, he could still see Tumnus in the White Witch's ice dungeon, as clearly as a photograph. Tumnus was essentially skin, fur, and bones. Cruel chains bound him, his fine horns had been severed, and the scars and bruises on his body testified to a good number of brutal beatings. It made Edmund's skin crawl just to think about what Tumnus must have gone through. He, himself, had received a few sound thrashes from Jadis; he could scarcely comprehend how much worse it was for Tumnus.

Even now, Edmund could still hear the words that were spoken that day.

After Tumnus had been released from his bonds, and literally thrown at Jadis's feet, she'd said to him in her cool, haughty tone, "Do you know why you're here, faun?"

Tumnus, with hardly the strength to stand, had slowly lifted his face from the floor, looked the Witch squarely in the eye, and answered stanchly, "Because I believe in a free Narnia."

Then Jadis had said, pointing her deadly wand in Edmund's direction, "You're here, because he turned you in—for sweeties."

Speechless, all Tumnus could do was stare at Edmund, and if Edmund lived to be a hundred, he knew he would never forget the look on the faun's face. From that gaunt face, from those hollow blue eyes, the shock, the disbelief, the horror, the discontent, and the devastating grief were so palpable that Edmund could literally feel it, as much as see it.

Shame and guilt such as Edmund had never felt before, or would have believed possible, exploded within him. The boy felt like he was going to be sick, there and then. Unable to face Tumnus, he'd abjectly turned away while Jadis ordered for Tumnus to be taken upstairs. Not so much later, when Ginarrbrik hauled Edmund up out of there, Edmund had frozen momentarily upon discovering that Tumnus had become a lifeless statue of cold, gray stone. It was the absolute worst fate the victims of the White Witch could receive, worse than death itself.

So, even though Tumnus was alive and whole again, it was no surprise that the faun begrudged Edmund, no wonder he held such blatant contempt for the boy.

Edmund knew what he did was wrong—he couldn't have done worse—and he was well aware that nothing could change the past.

Still, knowing that Tumnus hated him was a burden far greater than he could bear.

Since the coronation, and even before that, Edmund had tried everything to show Tumnus how sorry he was, that he wished to make things right. But it was no use.

Tumnus did not forgive him…and as far as Edmund could see, it looked like he never would.

Tumnus made his way swiftly through the corridors of the castle, heedless of where he was going. As a result, he almost collided with Beaver.

"Whoa—hey!" Beaver exclaimed, when he became aware of the faun. "Watch it!"

"Sorry, Beaver," Tumnus muttered, sounding only half-apologetic.

"What's the big rush, Tumnus? Is the castle on fire, or what?"

Tumnus said nothing, but Beaver saw the expression the faun wore on his face, and a look of genuine concern came over his own furry brown face.

"Are you all right? You look all hot and bothered, mate."

"It's nothing," Tumnus answered brusquely.

"Just nothing?" Beaver knew from past experience that a bit of "nothing" usually meant a great deal of "something". "Come, now, my boy, what's wrong? You can tell old Beaver all about it."

"If you really must know, Edmund came to me again."

"What for?" Beaver asked, though he was quite sure he already knew the answer.

"Oh, the usual." Tumnus made an accurate yet crude imitation of Edmund: "'Mr. Tumnus, I'm very sorry. I'm sorry I sold you out. Please forgive me. I want to make up and be friends.'"

"Don't you think you're being a little too hard on him?" Beaver asked mildly.

"No, I don't," said Tumnus, resuming his normal tone.

"I think he really is sorry, Tumnus. Can't you let it go?"

"I don't care how sorry he is. It's already too late for that. It was bad enough when I believed it was my own fault that I was arrested in the first place. I thought it was my carelessness that landed me in the icy clutches of the Witch. Then, when I saw Edmund, and discovered that he was Lucy's brother, I was sure I could trust him—only to find out a short time later that it was because of him I was trapped in there." Tumnus shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe how naïve I was," he muttered, "how quickly and easily I confided in him. After all, he was related to Lucy; how could he have been anything but a friend? But now I see him for what he truly is."

Beaver wisely kept silent during this heated tirade, but his dark eyes grew increasingly sorrowful the longer he listened.

"Because of him," Tumnus went on, "I lost literally everything. I lost my home, everything I owned, and, for a time, my very life. He put me through all that torture, all for the sake of a bit of candy, and the opportunity to be a prince. As if that weren't enough, he was ready to give Lucy up to the Witch herself. He was willing to condemn his whole family to an unspeakable death." Beaver made a slight flinch at that, knowing what Tumnus was saying was nothing short of the truth. "Now, he thinks that simply saying 'I'm sorry' will make everything better. Well, if he thinks he can get into my good graces just like that, he is sorely mistaken. I hate that sorry excuse for a Son of Adam."

"'Hate' is a strong word, mate," said Beaver quietly.

Tumnus said bitterly, "Not strong enough."

Beaver sighed heavily, and shook his head. At length, he said, "Well, Tumnus, I…I'm sorry you feel that way. Yes, it's true that all of us had much suffering because of Edmund." Looking up more fully at Tumnus, he added benevolently, "But don't you think Edmund has suffered just as much as we have, if not more? Don't you think he's had a change of heart?"

"Are you saying you forgive him for what he's done to us?"

"I'm not excusing him," Beaver said mildly, "but yes, I do forgive him. With my whole heart."

Holding his head high, Tumnus declared defiantly, "Well, you can't force me to do the same thing."

"You're right," Beaver countered, taking the faun somewhat aback. "Only you can do that, Tumnus. Only you can make the ultimate decision."