FROM BROTHER TO BROTHER

And we are back to the Narnia stories! Once again, I came up with another brilliant idea for another brilliant story, and once again, I couldn't bring myself to refuse. Out of all my stories I have written thus far, this has got to be among the most beautiful, the most poignant. I draw immense satisfaction from this one here, and hold it especially dear.

If you are a deeply spiritual person with strong beliefs, as I am, and you are not ashamed to show it, this is the story for you!

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

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

"Oreius?"

"Yes, Tumnus?" Oreius acknowledged, turning to face the young faun who addressed him.

Seeing the troubled look Tumnus wore on his face, the centaur's brows knit slightly in an expression of worry. "You seem distressed about something. Is…is everything all right?"

"It's Edmund, sir," said Tumnus softly. "I am very concerned about him."

"King Edmund? What of him? Is he all right?"

Tumnus sighed and closed his eyes, lifting one hand to his face and briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. "I couldn't say, Oreius," the faun murmured quietly. "He has been looking a bit pale to me these days, as if he hasn't been eating properly. But his physical condition is nothing compared to that of his heart."

"How do you know?" Oreius queried.

"Only this morning, sir, I passed by him in one of the corridors. He didn't notice me right away, but I could see tears in his eyes, and I sensed he was most upset about something. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him what was wrong. Above all, I wanted to comfort him, in any way I possibly could. But when I spoke to him and he saw me, his face went completely white, and he shrank back from me…almost like I was something dangerous. When I started toward him, he hid his face from me and took off running the other way, as if the castle were on fire. I called for him to come back, but he didn't listen to me and only sped up his pace."

"That is strange," Oreius mused.

"That's why I've come to you, Oreius…to implore you to talk to Edmund. Surely, he'll listen to you, being second-in-command to High King Peter, and all that."

"Well," said Oreius slowly, looking away for just a moment, his expression deep and thoughtful, "I have been meaning to get better acquainted with Edmund, since he and his brother and sisters first became kings and queens over Narnia two weeks ago. And I suppose now would be as good a time as any to do so. Especially since I'm not engaged in much else productive for the time being." The centaur paused, before adding on, "At any rate, it is high time we all got to know each other better."

Tumnus reached out and laid an earnest hand on Oreius's vambraced forearm. "When you see him, tell Edmund that I'm here as his friend," the faun entreated, "that we are all brothers, in and through Aslan. Tell Edmund that I am willing to help him bear whatever load he might be struggling with, if he'll only give me the chance."

Oreius merely nodded and, without a further word, turned and set off to look for Edmund.

It took Oreius well over an hour to track Edmund down. When he finally did so, it was outside the castle, out on the sunlit beach, where the waves of the Eastern Sea rolled forth in timeless swirls. Edmund was standing alone on the shoreline, facing the ocean, with his arms folded in front of him and his head hanging freely to his chest. He looked quite forlorn, and Oreius felt his heart flood with compassion for him as he watched him. The centaur made a prompt beeline in his young king's direction. The steady rumble of the surf and the soft sand beneath him muffled the sound of his hoofbeats, so Edmund never even knew he was coming—not until Oreius's tall silhouette passed over him and eclipsed him.

When Edmund raised his head and looked directly into Oreius's face, the centaur just said, "King Edmund."

"Hello, Oreius," said Edmund softly, averting his gaze almost immediately.

"I was hoping I would find you here, my lord," said Oreius. "I have been looking everywhere for you."

"What do you want?" The words emerged more bluntly than Edmund really intended, and the boy felt his face flush hotly with embarrassment and shame. "I mean…forgive me…why have you come after me? What is it you would have of me?"

"I have come to chastise you, Your Majesty, for shirking your royal responsibilities. For leaving the castle without prior notification, and for worrying the rest of us." Oreius's tone held a slight edge of humor to it, but Edmund couldn't truly tell whether the centaur was teasing or not.

The boy just sighed heavily, and bowed his head once more, this time bringing a single hand up to his face.

"Please don't reprimand me, Oreius," he murmured, with his hand over his eyes. "I get more than enough of this from Peter."

Oreius's countenance softened, and he heaved out a deep sigh himself.

"Now, Edmund, please," he said solicitously, dropping the formalities. "I am here as your friend…not your enemy."

Edmund didn't bother to look up as he said, "How can you possibly think of me as your friend, Oreius? How can you ever have anything to do with me? For that matter, how can anyone have anything to do with me, after all that I've done?" It was impossible to be sure, with the young king's face hidden and all, but it sounded to Oreius like Edmund was struggling against tears.

Oreius reached down and placed a large hand on the boy's thin, quivering shoulder. Edmund did not try to shrug it off, but he resolutely kept his head down, and his hand pressed to his face. Oreius remembered that Edmund had once sided with the White Witch, not so very long ago. He had betrayed them all for the sake of glory, and personal desires.

Could that be what was troubling him at this time? Edmund had clearly shown penitence for his actions before. And Aslan, the Great Lion himself, had spoken with the boy face-to-face and willingly forgiven him for his sins. But Oreius knew that to have others forgive you was one thing; to forgive yourself was quite another matter. He also recalled how he himself had once considered Edmund a traitor, one who was never to be trusted, or accepted. But now the centaur repented of his rash judgment of the boy, and his feelings of ill will.

Before him stood no traitor—not even a king, regardless of the silver crown borne on Edmund's brow.

All Oreius could see was a hurting child, a grieving soul in desperate need of comfort.

"Did Aslan not say that we are all brothers and sisters?" the centaur asked, in a tone that was meek and unspeakably gentle, for such a stalwart, battle-toughened creature. "More than just a king, Edmund, you are also part of our family. You are like one of us. And as such, ought we not to be there for one another? Should we not help those in our midst who are weak, or hurting? I know of such a brother, who attempted to lend you his help, offer you his love and support…but you wouldn't let him." He added meaningfully, "You know I am speaking of Tumnus, don't you?"

At the mention of Tumnus, Edmund gave out a deep groan of despair and anguish, and brought up his other hand to his face.

His whole body was visibly quaking by this time. His sharp, convulsive breathing proved beyond a grain of doubt that he was indeed weeping.

"Oh, Edmund," said Oreius empathetically, now taking a step closer, and wrapping the poor lad ever so gently within his powerful, solid-muscled arms. Edmund didn't pull away, but rather turned and huddled against Oreius's armored torso, sobbing as though his very heart would break. Oreius stood very still and let him cry, rubbing one hand over the back of the boy's shoulders and the nape of his neck, while the other hand toyed somewhat absentmindedly with Edmund's raven hair.

"Oh, Oreius," Edmund moaned, "I'm not part of Mr. Tumnus's family. Surely he must hate me!"

Was that it, Oreius wondered? Was that what had Edmund in a state like this—thinking Tumnus hated him? Did the boy seriously believe the faun thought that way of him? From the way Edmund had completely broken down when Oreius brought Tumnus up, that had to have been the case.

"There, now," Oreius soothed, as his fingers went on handling Edmund's hair, "of course Tumnus doesn't hate you. Why would you think such a thing?"

"What else could he think of me? It's true! After what I did to him, after the way I b-betrayed him to the Witch, and—and everything, he couldn't possibly want anything to do with m-me, ever again!" Edmund's sobs choked him then, preventing his ability to talk any further.

"You're certain of that?" said Oreius thoughtfully. "Then tell me, Edmund…if that were indeed the case, if Tumnus truly did hate you, and refused to be involved with you in any way, why would he have bothered to address you this morning in the first place?"

"I don't know!" Edmund managed to burst out. "Probably to say something to my face that he never would have dared say in front of anyone else!"

"Would Tumnus have sent me after you, if he didn't care?" Oreius persisted. "Would he have sent me to find you, to talk to you, to see if you were all right? Would I have wasted this past hour hunting you down, if I didn't think Tumnus was serious?"

This must have snagged Edmund's interest, for he at long last looked up completely from his hands. Oreius saw the young sovereign's face was quite red, thoroughly soaked with tears. His eyes were considerably wet and bloated, too. Oreius had never seen a child so upset, and the sight went to his heart like an arrow to its target.

"M-Mr. Tumnus sent you after me?" Edmund sputtered, blinking his moist eyes in disbelief.

"Yes." Oreius wiped Edmund's damp cheek with his thumb. "And I, for one, think you ought to go to him, have a little heart-to-heart talk with him. It's high time you two got better acquainted."

"But I can't talk to him!" protested Edmund. "I can hardly stand to talk to you! He wouldn't listen to me, anyway."

"Try him," Oreius challenged the lad. "Try him and see for yourself, and later you come and tell me."

"But what would I say to him, Oreius? I wouldn't even know where to begin!"

Oreius took a minute to ponder, before he gave his answer. "Well, Edmund, you might start by apologizing to him for shunning him this morning, and then asking him to forgive you for all of the ill you caused him in the past. Who knows? Tumnus may even help make the load you currently struggle with more bearable." With both hands resting on Edmund's shoulders, Oreius bent down slightly, his dark brown eyes gazing earnestly into Edmund's watery blue ones. "And," he added in a mild whisper, "you may also find that you and Tumnus are not as different as you might think."

"Mr. Tumnus?"

Tumnus, who had been engaged in silent prayer at the front of the little chancel established at the base of the castle, opened his eyes and raised his head from his hands to find Edmund standing over him. The soft light that filtered in through the solitary window ahead illuminated half the boy's face; the other half was immersed in blue and purple shadow.

"King Edmund." A kind smile spread over Tumnus's handsome, unshorn face as he regarded the young Son of Adam. "How wonderful to see you again."

"Are you all right, Mr. Tumnus?" Edmund spoke very softly, for although it was quiet, and it was just the two of them, he hated to disturb the sanctity of the place by using his voice.

Startled by the unexpected question, Tumnus blinked. "Er…if I may, Sire, I was just going to ask you the same question."

"What are you doing?" Edmund could already sense what Tumnus was up to, in a place like this.

Still, Tumnus chose to answer him.

"I was just thinking, is all," said the faun gently. "Thinking…and praying."

"But it's not even Sunday. Not for another four days, anyway."

Tumnus smiled at Edmund's pitiful attempt at humor. "You don't have to wait until Sunday to be in here, Your Majesty," he said. "For me, personally, this is a wonderful place to come to when you are feeling poorly about yourself, or when you simply need time to be alone. And I find it helps to unburden my heart in prayer. I am sure the almighty heavens do not object. My mother used to say, when I was a very young faun, that you can never have too many prayers."

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Tumnus," said Edmund, bowing his head meekly.

"Oh, no, not at all," Tumnus hastily reassured him, "not at all. It's really quite all right."

"May I join you?" Edmund asked solicitously.

Tumnus smiled very warmly at the boy. "Please do," he beckoned, and so Edmund knelt on the cool floor next to the faun, leaning against the edge of the low wooden pew in front of them, as Tumnus was doing. Still on his knees, Tumnus reached over and slipped his hand over Edmund's.

"I was hoping you would come to see me eventually, Your Excellency," he said.

"Please," said Edmund, feeling his face redden at the noble title, "just call me Edmund. I'm not really into such formalities."

Tumnus gave a light chuckle. "Very well, Edmund. As you wish."

The two remained in silence for a few minutes. Alone with Tumnus in this sacred room, Edmund could sense a presence outside his own, though he couldn't see it with his own eyes, nor touch it with his own hands. He couldn't repress a shiver. When Tumnus saw this, he leaned over and whispered, "Are you all right?"

Edmund nodded halfheartedly. "I'm all right, Mr. Tumnus," he whispered back. "It's just that this place is so beautiful…and so peaceful…I just don't feel much like talking."

It wasn't a total lie. But it wasn't the whole truth, either.

Another minute of silence passed, before Edmund spoke again. "Mr. Tumnus?"

"Yes, Edmund?"

"Oreius…" Edmund faltered, striving to gulp down the hard lump that hovered in his throat. "Oreius…he…he sent me to you, to…to ask your forgiveness."

Tumnus knitted his brows at him. "My forgiveness?" the incredulous faun repeated. "Why, whatever for?"

Edmund dipped his head. "For running away from you this morning, when you tried to talk to me."

Tumnus just looked at his companion for a time, then a slight smile crossed his face, and a half-laugh escaped his lips.

"Oh, that," he said. "Yes, I…I had wondered about that." His amusement faded quickly from his face, and he spoke more earnestly as he continued, "Actually, Edmund, I was afraid it had been something I, myself, might have done to offend you, when you turned away from me like that. I thought that I should be the one to ask your forgiveness."

"No, Mr. Tumnus," said Edmund solemnly, "it wasn't you. It was me. I—" He faltered yet again, drawing in a long, rattling breath as his emotions threatened to get the better of him. "I—I thought…I thought that you…y-you…" He choked up, and Tumnus wasn't sure whether it was a trick of the light, but the faun could have sworn there were tears swimming in Edmund's eyes.

Finally, Edmund managed to bring himself to say it: "I thought that you hated me."

"Hate you?" Tumnus looked like someone had just slapped his face. "How could I possibly hate—"

But then his words died quickly on his lips as a vivid, most unpleasant memory rose to mind, like a ship rising out of the horizon on the far-reaching sea. For a few fleeting seconds, the faun found himself back in the bleak, chilling dungeons at the bottom of the White Witch's ice palace, bruised and beaten, bound in heavy irons, half-dead from starvation and cold and misery. In his mind's eye, Tumnus could see Edmund chained beside him, and his keen ears could hear the words they had spoken to one another that grave day:

"You're Lucy Pevensie's brother."

"I'm Edmund."

"You have the same nose. Is your sister all right? Is she safe?"

"I don't know."

Then Tumnus recalled lying on his face at the feet of the White Witch herself, and he could hear her voice that was about as cold as the ice walls that enveloped them taunting him:

"Do you know why you're here, faun?"

"Because I believe in a free Narnia."

"You're here, because he"—meaning Edmund—"turned you in, for sweeties."

Tumnus would never forget the shock, grief, and pain he felt that day. He remembered staring at Edmund, being at a total loss for words, and seeing the look of unbearable guilt, humiliation, and remorse on the boy's face before the White Witch had the faun dragged up to a higher floor, and later came to Tumnus herself and turned him to stone.

Suddenly Tumnus understood, and Edmund's odd behavior that morning made perfect sense.

Now that the faun truly thought of it, why wouldn't the poor boy have run away from him?

But Tumnus had already forgiven Edmund for what he had done. He couldn't recall actually telling Edmund so…but he thought the boy would have known…

"That's another thing I wanted to ask you to forgive me for," said Edmund, and there were genuine tears rolling down his cheeks this time. "For telling the White Witch about you, Mr. Tumnus, for getting you arrested, a-and for all that had come about you…" It was too much. Unable to go on, Edmund turned away from Tumnus, and broke into a storm of crying. Tumnus saw his companion hide his face in his other hand, and the quiet yet potent sobs that emanated from Edmund broke the faun's heart.

Without hesitation, Tumnus moved in closer, locking his arms tightly around Edmund, as if to protect him from some sort of peril. While Edmund sobbed his heart out into Tumnus's bare shoulder, Tumnus fondled his hair, just as Oreius had done, and whispered into his ear, "Of course, Edmund…oh, of course, I forgive you."

Hearing this, Edmund drew back to stare disbelievingly at him. "You—you do?" he asked thickly.

"Willingly, and with all my heart." Tumnus smoothed the boy's disheveled black bangs off his forehead, and besought him, "And please forgive me, for not telling you this sooner; for giving you the wrong impression, for making you feel like you had to suffer through these past weeks alone. I'm sorry, Edmund. I'm very, truly sorry."

Edmund didn't see what there was to forgive Tumnus for, since he was the one entirely in the wrong. But to pacify, he nodded and said, "Sure, I forgive you, Mr. Tumnus." He couldn't help asking, "But how can you forgive me, considering what I put you through? How can you be so willing to just…let it all go?"

Tumnus regarded him with the most serious look Edmund had seen on the face of anybody alive.

"You are not the only one in this room who has sinned against Aslan, Edmund," said the faun soberly, "or against others, for that matter."

"But you don't have any sins, Mr. Tumnus," Edmund protested. "Not like the ones I've got."

"Don't I? Would you believe, Edmund, that I'm the sort of faun to have taken service under the White Witch, to be in her pay? Would you believe that I once served as spy, messenger, and kidnapper for Jadis, for a good number of years? Delivering up hostages to her, condemning innocent people to fates worse than death, hiding my head and taking blood money, turning my back on those who once trusted me? Can you see me as the sort of faun who would pretend to be friends with a poor, sweet, innocent child that I randomly stumbled across in the woods, one who had never done me any harm, and invite her to my cave for tea—all for the sake of delivering her into Jadis's hands?"

"No!" Edmund gasped, aghast. "Not you!"

"Yes," Tumnus countered. He turned away from Edmund himself, and buried his own face in his own hands. "I would give anything to go back, and change all that I've done," he said in a muffled voice, shaking his head very slowly and very sorrowfully from side to side. "But I can't."

After a few minutes of this, Tumnus finally uncovered his face and regarded Edmund with his intensely blue eyes. "For the longest time," he continued, "I used to believe I was done for, that my very soul was as good as lost." His countenance softened, and Edmund could see a special glow in his companion's eyes that had nothing to do with the light. "But Aslan has proved just the opposite," said the faun. "He has forgiven me, for every last one of my sins and wrongdoings, the great as well as the small. I know I cannot change the past, and Aslan knows it too; nevertheless, he has willingly granted me another chance. He has literally redeemed me…and I cannot even begin to imagine where I would be today, had it not been for him."

His hand moved over Edmund's hand once more, giving a gentle yet firm squeeze. "Nevertheless," the faun whispered again, "how can I be truly deserving of Aslan's forgiveness, how can his mercy on my behalf truly mean anything, if I refused to extend the same sort of mercy to you?"

Edmund said nothing, and the tears did not cease to fall, but he could feel his heavy heart within him growing light.

What Tumnus was saying not only gave the boy hope and comfort—but it actually made sense.

"I forgive you, Edmund," Tumnus said again, speaking with both kindness and conviction. "And I beg you to stop tormenting yourself over the past. We cannot change what has already come about." He leaned in Edmund's direction once again, his gold-brown hair brushing briefly against Edmund's cheek as he did so. "But there is always hope for a second chance, an opportunity to come back." He smiled. "How does that sound, Edmund?"

"It sounds wonderful." Edmund sniffed and brushed his sleeve over his wet eyes, and managed to straighten his posture a bit more. "Will you pray with me, Mr. Tumnus?"

Tumnus closed his eyes and nodded mildly. "Of course, I will," he said softly.

His hand gently slid to Edmund's shoulder, while his other hand rose to shield his face. Edmund laced his own hands together on the edge of the pew, and rested his forehead against them. With Tumnus silently praying along with him, Edmund began. The Son of Adam started out by pleading for forgiveness for his weaknesses, as well as the strength to overcome his past, and the courage to face the future. Then, the further his prayer continued, the deeper and more intense it became. No words can adequately describe the sincerity, the power, the pure devotion of that prayer. But Tumnus heard it all with his own ears, and he could truly say he had never heard anything like it.

The faun could actually feel the presence of a divine being there, in that very room. Never in all his life had Tumnus experienced such clarity, such sheer sweetness.

When Edmund was finished, he could barely remember two words of what he had said, but he looked at Tumnus and saw that the faun had tears glistening upon his cheeks.

Edmund asked him bewilderedly, "What did I say, Mr. Tumnus?"

All Tumnus said was, "When you opened your mouth, Edmund, and you spoke those words, it was like hearing the voice of another." He pulled Edmund toward him and held him in another close embrace, whispering fervently into the boy's ear, "Aslan's grace and blessing be upon you always…brother."

Brother. Edmund liked the sound of that immensely.

Oreius had said they were all family. Now, for the first time, Edmund truly understood what that meant. How he loved Tumnus…in some ways, he felt he loved the faun holding him more than the siblings of his own flesh and blood; and understood him better, too. Edmund smiled, despite the tears that yet flooded down his face, and returned Tumnus's impassioned hug with all his heart. He closed his eyes and buried his head under the faun's unshaven chin, inhaling the scent of him: pine, cinnamon, and nutmeg, with a subtle hint of lilac.

He smelled good, Edmund thought, for a faun.

When the crying and embracing finally ceased, when the two ultimately drew apart and had risen to their feet and (in Tumnus's case) hooves, Edmund said, "It's a beautiful day, Mr. Tumnus. Would you like to take a little walk with me?" He felt himself blush at his own boldness.

"It would be a pleasure, Edmund, and an honor," Tumnus didn't hesitate to answer. "Here…here, let me hold your hand, while we do so."

Edmund readily accepted the faun's hand, which felt strong and rough, yet warm and reassuring at the same time.

As they made their way out of the chancel together, Tumnus went on, "And you tell me what Peter, Susan, and Lucy are like. I would especially love to know more about Lucy, from your perspective. You're extremely fortunate to have someone such as her in your life. I never had a sister of my own, you know, being the only child born to my parents."

Edmund continued to smile as he thought of Lucy, and Susan and Peter, and all those other people he once took for granted. Yes, Tumnus was right; he was most fortunate.

Up till now, he'd never realized just how truly blessed he was, how blessed they all were.

Out of all his possessions, his family, his friends, were the most valuable.