FLYING DREAMS
I wanted to do something that involved Tumnus's mother (you never see her or hear of her in the movie, or the book), so I decided to give it a try. This story is dedicated to my own dear mom, who recently recovered from cancer. I love her so much, and I don't know what we'd do without her. I'm so grateful we still get to have her with us.
I hope you enjoy this, and be sure to keep an ample supply of tissues close at hand.
Tumnus and Narnia © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media
Song © Sally Stevens
Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
"Come along, Tumnus," Alethea called sweetly to her child as she set off, on dainty cloven hooves that could cross nearly a whole field of flowers, while barely crushing a petal.
Little Tumnus, hardly more than five years old—which, by the standards of a faun, was exceedingly young—eagerly raced to catch up with his beautiful mother. His honey curls, streaked with brown, bounced liberally about his face as he pranced and leaped about on his long, skinny goat-deer legs. Alethea beamed down at him as he drew alongside her, and she promptly took hold of his hand, intertwining her long, slender fingers with his short, slightly chubby ones. "Where we going today, Mama?" Tumnus asked, in his small, infantile voice.
"Today, sweetheart, I'm taking you to the hills," said Alethea, as if this were a rare treat. "I want to show you something very special."
Tumnus had never been to the hills before, so this was thrilling news for him.
Butterflies danced about them as the two fauns walked along together, and the fragrance of wildflowers laced the early spring air, mingled with the perfumes of pine and clover. It was a perfect morning—hardly any clouds in the sky, the sun shining radiantly overhead, the breeze cool and invigorating, the grass and the flowers growing thick and sweet; naturally, Tumnus was in high spirits. At one point, the little faun released his mother's hand to chase after one of the butterflies that flitted past his ear, squealing and blatting with sheer delight.
Seeing her son's liveliness and vivacity warmed Alethea's heart. She smiled and tossed her head slightly, her long, thick hair billowing down her back in waves of gold.
They soon reached the base of the hills, and there Alethea offered to carry Tumnus to the top, but the little faun obstinately insisted he could make the climb himself. So, Alethea let him go ahead of her, and she stayed close behind him should he ever get tired, or take an unexpected fall. Remarkably, Tumnus made it successfully to the crest of the hill on his own, and as the young lad stood beside his mother at the top, he marveled at what he saw.
He always knew Narnia was a big place, but he'd never known exactly how big, until now. Here, from this spot, he could see lofty trees, sweeping meadows, twisted rivers, shimmering lakes, and majestic mountains—all stretching out as far as his eye could perceive.
It was really quite enough to boggle the mind.
"Wow!" Tumnus whispered in awe.
"Do you see, Tumnus?" Alethea pointed out to him. "All of this, everything that you see here—every tree, every stone, every blade of grass—is Narnia. Isn't it beautiful?"
He nodded vigorously. "It's amazing, Mama!"
"And Aslan made it all," said Alethea proudly, pronouncing the name of Narnia's creator, the holy and messianic Great Lion—also referred to as the Great Golden Lion.
"All of it?" Tumnus stared up bewilderedly at her.
She nodded and echoed, "All of it." She drew in a long breath through her nostrils, and exhaled softly through her mouth. "Ahh…smell that. Do you know what that is, sweetheart?"
Tumnus inhaled deeply. "I smell flowers, Mama, and green grass."
Alethea smiled at her son. "No, my darling. That which you smell is the breath of Aslan himself."
A few years later, Alethea awoke late one cold winter's night to the sound of her son's pitiful crying. Taking care to not disturb Anlon, her husband, who was sleeping deeply on the other side of the bed, Alethea rose to her hooves, pulled a soft blue wrap around her slim figure, and with a single glowing candlestick, wove her way through the dark cave that was their home toward Tumnus's room.
"Tumnus?" she called softly to her child. "Tumnus, darling?"
Inside his room, she found Tumnus huddled under his covers, shaking all over with tremulous sobs, obviously distressed about something.
Oh, my, Alethea thought as she placed her candle down on a small table. She cautiously moved closer to her boy and sat next to him on the mattress. Laying a hand on Tumnus's blanketed shoulder, she said gently, "Tumnus? What's the matter, sweetheart?"
Very slowly, Tumnus revealed his face to his mother, the tears in his eyes and on his cheeks glistening in the candlelight. "M-Mama…" he choked out.
"There, there," Alethea soothed, as she pulled the weepy faun closer to her and enfolded him in a tender embrace. "Just calm down, love. I'm here. It's going to be all right." Tumnus shut his eyes tightly and buried his wet face in his mother's sleek garment, his tears seeping into the cloth and staining it. But Alethea paid no heed to this, and simply held Tumnus against her; one hand massaged the little faun's bare back, the other rested within his mop of curls.
Eventually, when Tumnus began to calm down somewhat, Alethea lifted his chin so that he was looking her in the face, and she asked him again, "What is it, dear heart? What's wrong?"
"I-I had a bad dream, M-Mama," Tumnus quavered. "It was horrible! I-it was awful!"
"Oh, dear," said Alethea softly, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, honey." She brought her face slightly closer to his as she added mildly, "But, you know, it was just a dream."
"B-but I'm still s-scared," Tumnus protested, his fear evident in his tone and countenance.
"Don't worry, love," Alethea reassured him, now smoothing his tangled hair. "Everything will be all right. You're safe here, with us; and Aslan is watching over you. He'll protect you."
Tumnus said nothing to this, but he closed his eyes and let his head rest once again against his mother's breast, still sniffling.
At length, Alethea began to croon a gentle lullaby to her little one:
"My good and tender son,
Let your eyes close in slumber.
I pray your dreams may be sweet
On this cold, dark December.
Be not afraid, all will be right,
For you are in Aslan's sight.
My good and tender son,
Take heart, be not dismayed.
Even the longest and darkest of nights
Shall, in time, flee away."
Her lovely, lilting voice, and the moving ethereality of the song itself, swirled around Tumnus, enveloping his heart in a cocoon of warmth and softness.
Slowly, but surely, the little faun felt his fear begin to trickle away, like water seeping through a gap in a rock, and his tiny and taut body gradually went slack within Alethea's arms.
He tentatively raised his head and peered up once more into his mother's bright sapphire eyes when she was through with her song, and Alethea offered her child a sweet smile of love and promise, before she pressed her lips lightly against Tumnus's brow and kissed him.
"You may be young, Tumnus, but that is no excuse for you to act the way you do!"
"I am not a child, Father!" Tumnus argued hotly.
"By our standards, boy, you still are!" Anlon shot back. "And, as your father, that gives me the legitimate authority over you. As long as you live in my cave, you will abide by my rules."
"Oh, so I've got to go around doing exactly everything I'm told to do," said Tumnus, his voice dripping bitter sarcasm, "and I've got to do it absolutely perfectly!"
"Watch your tongue, mister!" Anlon said sharply, holding a warning finger to his son's face.
Right then, Alethea stepped forth, placing herself squarely between her two men. "Anlon!" she cried out. "Tumnus—please, enough of this! I simply will not stand for this barbaric behavior!"
Seeing her discontent, Anlon glared accusingly over his wife at Tumnus. "Now look what you've done."
"What I've done? You're the one who started this, Father, with your shouting and all—"
"Stop it, both of you," Alethea commanded, cutting Tumnus off. She shook her head as she regarded her family. "Honestly! Can't you two get along for so much as one day? Having you in the same room together is like having a pair of wolves fighting over a scrap of meat."
Tumnus and Anlon merely shared one last look of contempt with one another before Anlon abruptly whirled around and stormed from the room, without a further word, bringing his hooves down upon the stone floor with slightly more force than necessary. A moment later, Tumnus flounced off in another direction, leaving Alethea to herself.
Alethea sighed as she watched her family drift apart.
Why did her son and her husband always have to be at such odds with each other? How could two creatures of the same blood be so completely different? If this kept up, Anlon and Tumnus would ultimately cross the line, go off the deep end. Her whole family would be smashed to pieces. Alethea sighed again and briefly covered her eyes with her hand, feeling unusually weary.
She'd been feeling a lot more tired a lot more often lately. She couldn't say why. Perhaps all this frequent fussing with Tumnus and Anlon was beginning to take its toll on her, physically as well as mentally.
Sweeping her blonde hair back from her face, Alethea set off to see if she could make anything useful of herself around the cave.
Sometime later that same day, as Alethea was passing by her son's bedroom, she stopped upon seeing Tumnus hunched on the edge of his bed with his face buried in his hands, sobbing. Moved with pity at the sad sight, Alethea didn't hesitate to slip into the room and join her son on the bed. Tumnus, with his head down and his hands covering his eyes, took no notice of her, and only wept harder. Slowly, Alethea reached out for him and slid an arm across his quaking shoulders. "Tumnus?" she said solicitously. "Darling? Are you all right?"
Tumnus looked up, his face dripping with tears, his eyes glistening with anger and anguish.
"Father hates me," he blurted out to his mother, almost immediately.
Stricken by his words, stunned by such a horrible statement, Alethea quickly pulled her poor boy closer to her heart and cradled him, big as he was. "Oh, no, dearest Tumnus. No…of course your father doesn't hate you. Why in the world would you ever think such a thing?"
"Nothing I do ever pleases him!" Tumnus said in a cracked voice. "To him, I'm always doing everything wrong! Whenever he's not yelling at me or criticizing me, he hardly pays any attention to me. He doesn't listen to a word I say, and he doesn't care about what happens to me. He doesn't love me, Mother. He doesn't want me as his son!"
He caught his breath, unable to continue any further.
"Don't judge your father too harshly, Tumnus," Alethea told him quietly. Running her fingers delicately through Tumnus's honey-brown hair, attempting futilely to straighten the unruly curls, she went on, "He really is a good faun; and he truly does love you, very much. He just doesn't know how to express his true feelings properly. Not many creatures do, you know."
"He doesn't have to treat me the way he does," said Tumnus bitterly.
"No, he doesn't," Alethea had to agree. "But try to be patient with him, love. Give him some time. He is your father, after all. We're a family, dear heart…all of us. We're bound to one another, and it is up to us to strengthen those bonds so they will last forever."
Hot grief engulfed Tumnus like a tidal wave, and tears spilled freely down his cheeks as he regarded his poor mother, who lay quietly before him on her deathbed, too weak to even so much as lift her head from her pillow. On the opposite side of the bed, Anlon stood like a sentinel, still and as silent as stone, unable to pull his eyes away from his beloved wife, his sorrow and despair evident in his rugged features.
In the faint, dancing light of the candles that burned in the room, Alethea looked incredibly small and frail. Her face was thin and gaunt, and as white as the sheets that covered her; yet still as beautiful as the face of any angel. Her breathing was shallow and awkward, which could only signify that her mortal life was nearing its end.
"Please get well, Mother," Tumnus besought her; yet one look at Alethea's wasted form told him that she was most likely never going to recover, that her time had arrived.
"Alethea." Anlon's voice was scarcely audible. "Forgive me, my dearest. Forgive me, for not being the husband I ought to have been to you these past years."
"Nonsense, Anlon," Alethea whispered back to him, managing a feeble smile. "You were a wonderful husband, and there is no other faun in the world I could have or would have chosen as my mate. You've always been the only one for me, my love, and you always will be." She then turned to her son, and though she was dying, she had a little strength left to bring a hand up to touch Tumnus's damp cheek. "My precious, precious Tumnus," she rasped, "how I love you so. I'm sorry I must leave you now, while you are still so very young. Do not mourn for me, my son, for I shall always be with you…even when you can't see me."
Her words sent tremors of fear and dismay rippling through Tumnus. "What do you mean, I can't see you, Mother?" the young faun protested weakly. "I can always see you!"
"It will be all right, my darling," Alethea told him, attempting to give him confidence and comfort. It was all she could do for him at that time, the only blessing she could possibly give him. "I'll be all right. One day, one day soon…we will be together again. All of us."
To her whole family, she proclaimed, her ability to speak growing increasingly difficult with every word and every syllable, "I love you all. May Aslan keep you…until that day…" Her voice faded into total nothingness as the last of her strength left her, and she closed her dimming eyes and released one final whisper of breath.
She never moved or spoke again after that, and Anlon knew she was gone.
"Mother?" said Tumnus faintly. "Mother?" He stared long and hard into Alethea's quiet face, expecting her to sit up at any time and gather him into her loving arms—but she never did. When Tumnus touched her limp hand, he was alarmed at how icy her skin felt.
"Mother!" Giving his mother a shake, the young faun implored, "Mother, wake up! Wake up! Please, wake up!"
"It's too late, son," said Anlon hoarsely. "She's gone."
"No!" Stark panic seared through Tumnus like a rod of burning iron. His very heart seemed to shrivel; bile swelled up within his throat, and tears jabbed and stung his eyes like needles.
"Mother!" he wailed desperately to Alethea, as he kept attempting to rouse her. "Mother!"
Alethea did not answer. She just lay there, like a statue carved of white marble. Her head tilted slightly to one side, her chest lay perfectly flat, and her thin, graceful hand dangled uselessly over the edge of her bed. The fingers never moved.
"No!" Tumnus screamed again, his tears gushing forth in an uncontrollable flood as the awful truth sank in, like a stone in deep water. "No! No—Mother! Mother, please, no! No-o-o-o-o!" His last cry of denial escaped him in one long, loud, heartrending wail of sheer anguish as he wheeled around and took off running out the door, just as fast as his legs could carry him.
Anlon remained right where he was, and watched his devastated son flee the room.
When Tumnus was gone, and his wild sobbing and howling had faded away into silence, Anlon then fell to his knees upon the cold floor by his dead wife's side.
"Oh, my sweet Alethea," was all he could say, before his grief overwhelmed him completely. With his arms folded over the top of the mattress, Anlon closed his eyes and plunged his head into his arms, and there he allowed himself to weep freely for his loss.
The very next night, Tumnus stood alongside Anlon in the heart of the grove, at the border that divided the Western Woods from the Eastern Sea. Before them, Alethea lay peacefully upon a small wooden slat, surrounded by garlands of flowers. Her frail body was draped in a clean white shroud; and within her hands, which were folded demurely at her waist, she held a single amethyst calla lily. Her long, brilliant gold hair fanned out in all directions, and her lips were turned up slightly—as if she were merely asleep and in the middle of a very pleasant dream.
All around Tumnus, many other Narnians had gathered together to pay their final respects to Alethea, and also to extend their personal condolences to the bereft family. The crowd consisted mostly of fauns; but there were also a few satyrs, a handful of centaurs, and even a unicorn and a few belligerent-looking dwarves had showed up for the ritual. There were some Talking Animals present as well, including Old Badger, Young Fox, and the Beavers—Tumnus and Anlon's neighbors and lifelong friends.
It was all Tumnus could do to maintain hold of himself as he and his father stood over Alethea; or rather, what they had left of her.
His mother…his poor, sweet, innocent mother…dead…dead…it couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. How could Alethea leave them now? She was so young, so beautiful, so precious.
Why did she have to go? How could Tumnus survive without her? How could he and Anlon ever truly be a family without her? How could he, himself, make it through life without her arms to hold him, her dulcet voice to soothe him and encourage him? Tumnus believed his very heart would burst with the pain that beset him. Vainly, the young faun tried to still his trembling by wrapping his own scrawny arms around his shoulders and squeezing fervently.
Next to Tumnus, Anlon stood with his head bowed low and his face concealed within both hands—as if he were ashamed to be seen shedding tears in public. Or perhaps looking at the remains of his dear love was simply too painful for him…or, perhaps, it was all of the above.
A son should never have to lay his mother to rest like this, Tumnus thought. Not at his age, anyway. Though Tumnus was no longer considered a youngling, he hadn't yet attained full faunhood either. In some ways, he needed his mother more now, than when he was a child.
But she was gone, and now what would Tumnus do? What would both he and his father do?
The ceremony itself was brief and simple, interspersed with the sounds of bitter weeping and groans of anguish; and while Tumnus would not recall later the exact words that were spoken that night in Alethea's behalf, he knew he would never forget the way he felt. It was like some chill, snakelike creature had seized hold of his insides, and paralyzed his soul.
He felt empty and lost—like he was trapped within the depths of some dark, dreary pit; with no way out, and with no one to help him.
When it was all over with, and the others had at long last departed for their own homes and their own lives, Tumnus continued to abide with his father, the only family in the world he had left. "Come, my son." Anlon's voice was calm and quiet, although his raven eyes were dark, hollow pools of unfathomable grief. "We'd best be getting home ourselves."
He moved very slowly along, with Tumnus close to his side, and he even put his hand on his son's back to guide him as they walked. Tumnus never spoke or made a sound, and he made no resistance whatsoever; although he dreaded the notion of returning home to their cave. Home reminded him of when his mother was still living. It made the burden of his loss almost too heavy to bear, the sorrow almost too great to contain. Tumnus closed his eyes and covered them with a single hand, letting his father lead him through the bleak, lonely forest.
Weeks went by, and Tumnus could not get over his mother's death. He could never stop thinking about Alethea, could never stop seeing her face before his eyes, could never so much as walk past his parents' bedroom door without breaking down in tears.
Anlon, though he knelt and prayed fervently to Aslan every day for strength, appeared no better off himself. He and Tumnus would eat their meals together in silence, and on occasion they would exchange a word or two, but mostly they spent their time apart from each other. Anlon often shut himself up in his room for hours on end; either to think, or to rest, or to pray. While he'd do this, Tumnus would either mope in his room, or wander about leisurely outside.
Everyone Tumnus bumped into kept telling him how sorry they were about Alethea's unanticipated and untimely passing, but their sympathy brought the young faun no comfort. People often asked the lad whether there was anything at all they could do, but Tumnus knew no one could grant him his one true wish: to bring his mother back to him.
There was nothing anybody could do that would change anything.
As time passed, the pain gradually started to subside and the sadness slowly began to ebb away, although it never left Tumnus completely.
And then, early one day, while the faun was out and about, alone in the woods, forcing himself to concentrate on wholesome, uplifting thoughts, he thought he heard a voice speak to him out of the cool morning silence: I'm here.
Startled, Tumnus jerked to a prompt halt and glanced bewilderedly around, but saw no one.
Yet his keen ears caught the same voice, the same words a second time. I'm here.
While it was not a harsh voice, and hardly an audible one at that, it nonetheless pierced Tumnus to the center. And yet it was not an unpleasant sensation. Rather, it was a feeling of reassurance, as if something—or someone—were trying to let Tumnus know he wasn't alone.
"Mother?" Tumnus called softly into the trees, in spite of himself.
Nothing happened, and no one answered him outright, of course; but the young faun could certainly sense a familiar presence. It was almost…almost like his mother was right there with him, even though he couldn't see her with his own eyes, nor touch her with his own hands.
Perhaps this was what Alethea had meant, when she'd told her boy she would always be there, even after she was already long gone. Tumnus couldn't be truly certain; but then, neither could the faun deny the impression that resided within his heart.
Many years afterward, Tumnus—now a full-grown faun—stood alone on his private balcony at Castle Cair Paravel, watching the sea. The sight, and the sound, of the vast water below him had an extraordinarily soothing quality to it. Tumnus also surveyed the sun as it slowly disappeared beyond the horizon; as well as the sky as the colors thereof softened progressively from a vivid rose to a placid purple to a deep, rich indigo.
One by one, an immense spatter of stars emerged into view, all across the firmament; and it wasn't long before the moon revealed its presence, bathing the whole land in its brilliant white splendor. The soft salty air whispered all around Tumnus as he continued to stand there quietly, caressing him, and calming him.
Gazing up into the starlit heavens, the faun thought of his parents, most especially of his mother. He wondered what Alethea was doing right now, wherever she was, and he prayed she was happy. Although he still missed his mother dearly—and he knew he always would miss her—Tumnus had no doubt of ever seeing her again, and he could not prevent a smile from spreading over his bearded face as he recalled precious memories of her.
Oh, he thought, that every creature in this world could have had such a mother.
Though his earthly time with Alethea had been brief, her love would remain with him forever.
It was a priceless gift Tumnus would treasure all his life.
"I love you, Mother," the faun whispered to the stars, speaking with both his heart and lips.
One of the stars appeared to wink at him in response to this, and Tumnus knew he'd been heard. He continued to smile as he closed his eyes and raised his head slightly higher, feeling a warm wetness upon his face that he knew was not due to the spray of the sea.
Dream by night
Wish by day
Love begins this way
Night's a friend
With love to send
Each new day
Bless your heart
Bless your soul
Let your dreams come true
Future songs
And flying dreams
Wait for you
Love, it seems,
Made flying dreams
So hearts could soar
Heaven sent
These wings were meant
To prove once more
That love is the key
As you wish
As you will
Dream a flying start
Love and care
The power's there
Trust your heart
Trust your heart…
"Flying Dreams" ~ Sally Stevens
(From the Don Bluth film The Secret of NIMH)