A/N: Pip4 gave me the idea to write about Tumnus' journey to the Queen's house after begin arrested. This would take place between chapters 4 and 5 of "A Faun's Tale" (shameless self-advertising here!) It's a little more full of torment than I'm used to writing, but I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: The universe is C. S. Lewis' and the idea is Pip4's. I suppose that leaves me with the words.
To the Witch's House
Tumnus fell to his knees in the snow, sobbing for breath.
He was cold, his hands were numb, and his knees were aching from frequent contact with the ground. This was not the first time that he had stumbled, and his raw knees leaked red onto the glittering snow. At least he hadn't fallen on his face this time – his bound hands prevented him from being able to catch himself, and his nose was already bruised and swollen. He let his chin fall onto his chest as he sucked freezing air into his lungs, trying vainly to ignore the wolves that circled him.
His instincts told him to get up and run before the brutes closed in for the kill, but his body was simply too weary from the brutal treatment to care any more. Besides, he thought to himself, in a pathetic attempt to be encouraging, If the wolves had wanted to kill me, I would be dead already.
He almost thought that it would be a mercy. Death seemed nearly welcome to the little Faun as he crouched, shivering, in the snow. His home was ruined, he was practically frozen, and all that awaited him was a fate as one of the White Witch's stone ornaments. The outlook had never been bleaker.
Tumnus did not raise his head when one of the wolves stepped in front of him, settling its wide, wicked paws into the powder. Its hot, rank breath caused his nostrils to dilate. "Get up", the wolf growled. The Faun recognized the voice of Maugrim, and despite the stab of fear that shivered through him, he did not move. "Get up", the wolf repeated, an angry snarl rising in his throat.
"I can't!" Tumnus sobbed before he could prevent himself. He could hear the wolves creeping closer, large paws crunching in the snow. They laughed, and if you've never heard a wolf laugh before, you can't imagine what a horrible sound it is.
"What, our little goat-boy is tired?"
"Half-dead, more like. Fauns are weak creatures."
"And the Witch hasn't even started on him yet!"
Tumnus let his head fall forward so that his hot, sweaty brow rested in the snow. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the harsh, jeering voices. I must concentrate on something else, he thought valiantly. That was not too difficult, as something else was vying for his attention – pain.
It centred in his knees which were a bloody mess, shredded to ribbons from stumbling and falling on the icy shale. Now that they were trekking through the deep forest it was somewhat better, as the powder offered a cushion of sorts.
But his arms were another matter – his hands were numb, his wrists chafed from the rough rope that bound them, and his shoulders throbbed from having his arms wrenched behind his back for so long.
In addition, his nose was bloodied and swollen to twice its normal size from being fallen on so many times.
To top it all off, his back was covered in small scratches and bites, courtesy of the wolves, which had been kindly bestowed to hurry him along.
And if all of that was not enough, he was cold.
Very cold.
He was so cold that he could not even remember what being warm felt like. He did not have the thick pelts that the wolves possessed, and his woollen red scarf lay somewhere in the wreckage of his cave. This was the sort of weather that no decent Narnian would allow himself to be caught outside in, never mind not having appropriate clothing. It was not snowing, but the air was sharp and still, and froze his lungs with every breath.
A hard nudge sent his face right into the snow, and he rolled over, spluttering. "On your feet, Faun", Maugrim was saying. Tumnus briefly considered asking the wolves to just leave him here to die in peace, but he doubted that they would grant his request.
"If you are so keen to see me rise", he said, trying to shake snow from his dark curly hair, "Why do you keep pushing me around?"
It had been the wrong thing to say, and a hard nip on his tail caused Tumnus to yelp loudly. It also caused the wolves sufficient amusement, but the Faun did not care about that. "All right", he tried to snap, but his words came out sounding frail and weary. With a barely-stifled sigh, Tumnus turned onto his stomach and struggled to his knees. He rested for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and with a mighty effort he pushed himself up to his feet.
The wolves immediately continued on their path, leaving their captive to stagger along in their midst. Tumnus fought on as best he could, floundering in the deep drifts that the wolves bounded through with ease, sliding down the steep sides of snowbanks that the wolves merely took in a single giant leap, and slipping on frozen puddles with his tiny hooves, which they wolves gripped with their large padded feet.
It really isn't fair that they expect me to travel at their speed, Tumnus thought. I mean, really! They have four legs, I have two. Their paws are wide and furry, and my hooves are small and hard. They wear thick fur coats wherever they go, whereas I don't have so much as a muffler.
He was very tempted to present these arguments to Maugrim, which shows you just how tired and foolish the little Faun was becoming. But just as he opened his mouth to address the wolf Captain, something happened. Tumnus tripped over a hidden tree-trunk, and tumbled headfirst onto the ground, striking his skull against a rock.
Everything went white, but Tumnus was not surprised in the least – Narnia was covered in snow, after all. What really fascinated him was the shadow that had seemed to fall over his senses.
My, this is lovely! he thought, the pain in his arms and knees fading to mere echoes of what they had been. Tumnus imagined himself lying in his cozy little bed piled high with woollen blankets and a goose-down quilt. The fire would be roaring in the hearth, and a lovely smell of cooking would be wafting by – eggs and toast, perhaps, or even a roast chicken; it had been so long since he had tasted roast chicken. In his mind's eye, he pictured his father Limnus pouring tea into patterned china cups, smiling through his curly grey beard. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were there too, the former smoking his pipe, and the latter cutting generous slices of her famous bread. Fox was nearby, and Badger, and Robin, and all of the Faun's friends, talking and laughing and telling stories. And there, perched in an armchair and holding a cup of tea, was Lucy. She swung her legs as she listened to the chatter, and catching Tumnus' eye, she smiled. A feeling of great happiness and content welled up inside the little Faun. He smiled back at Lucy, and opened his mouth to speak –
"Oof!" Tumnus' eyes snapped open, and he saw Maugrim towering over him. The wolf had just kicked him in the stomach, effectively bringing the poor Faun out of his daydream, and bringing the pain roaring back full force. Tumnus' heart fell when he realized that he had just been imagining everything. Stupid of me, he chided himself. How could my father be alive? And such peace and plenty is not possible in these times.
Yet although he berated himself for his foolish thoughts, he could not help but feel a deep sense of regret. That is how life should be, he sighed to himself. I understand now. That is what the rebels, what my father, had been fighting for – the right to live however you wish, alongside those who are dearest to you. Tumnus felt suddenly drained, fatigued in mind and body. He knew he would not be able get up again.
The wolves nudged and prodded, scratched and bit, and still their prisoner did not rise. Finally Maugrim snapped a rough order, and two of the wolves each took one of Tumnus' forearms in their massive jaws.
The Faun was horrified by this – he knew that they only had to squeeze, and his bones would snap in two. But even though their teeth pierced his skin so that the blood dripped in a splattered crimson trail, they refrained from biting down. Although Tumnus no longer had to walk, this method of transport had its own disadvantages. Not only did it mean two new sets of teeth-marks, but his already-aching arms were in agony now that they had to support the weight of his body. Tumnus attempted to get his feet under him, but it was no use. He found himself being dragged helplessly, hooves scoring twin tracks through the snow.
At long last the wolves paused, and Tumnus wearily raised his head. In the middle of a plain between two hills, he could see the Witch's House: pointed towers reached up to the sky, topped by needle-like spires. The setting sun cast a reddish glow over everything, and Tumnus was reminded horribly of blood on daggers. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fainted.
The wolves resumed their trek. They dragged the limp, forlorn little Faun with them, across the frozen river to the Witch's House and through the wide open gates.
End.
A/N: Poor Tumnus! But don't worry, we all know that it will turn out all right in the end. Review if you want more Tumnus stories!