The Right Words
The winds outside were howling so fiercely that Tumnus knew she wouldn't be coming to visit. He sighed, drawing the curtains against the blizzard. It had been so warm the past month, he had so hoped…but it was typical winter. He had thought, for just a moment, that the Pevensies could keep it warm enough to hold off snow. But Narnia was known for its winters, and Tumnus resigned himself to celebrating Christmas alone.
The fire was roaring and candles were flickering, and the cave was almost cheerful. He curled long fingers around a mug of steaming tea, inhaling the aromatic scent deeply. Presents stood, in plain brown paper, on the table in the corner. He thought for a moment about setting out, but a particularly violent gust of wind shook his shutters and changed his mind. He sunk deep into his chair, watching the fire. The flames cast orange light on the rough fur of his legs.
He imagined the Christmas they must be having at Cair Paravel. He could see the huge tree—well, he'd seen it already, but not on Christmas—festooned with crepe and dazzling with thousands of candles. He could picture the ocean of presents in gilt paper foaming out from beneath green branches. He could hear the squeals of delight as four monarchs—only they were children, really—raced from their rooms to the Grand Hall, where gifts were waiting. He thought of Lucy in her housecoat, and Susan with her hair in curlers, and he laughed. Dignity would be forgotten in favor of new playthings.
He pictured them opening their gifts. Peter would look embarrassed and pleased at anything and everything, and Tumnus imagined he would mostly be getting books. Susan would receive makeup, and she would blush with pleasure. She might receive earrings from one of her brothers, and she would kiss them with happiness and immediately try them on, sliding the wires through the holes in her lobes. Edmund would get some strange gadget—a gyroscope, or a compass, or some spyglass—and his large blue eyes would grow as round as dinner plates, taking in everything that he now had. And Lucy—here Tumnus smiled so wide he surprised himself.
Lucy would be shy to accept any gifts at all. She would insist that her gifts to others were opened first. And when she finally did unwrap something, she would be touched to the bottom of her feet. Her eyes would well up and she would smile so widely her cheeks would be in danger of splitting, and she would fling her arms about whoever gave her a gift, much to the giver's chagrin. For though Lucy was a woman now, nineteen years old, she turned back into a little girl the moment the Christmas tree was put up. And the best part—Tumnus smiled again. Yes, the best part of all would be that for this morning, they would forget their crowns and remember their pajamas. They would ignore responsibilities and manners and they would crow with laughter without fear of being heard. For four people who had never had much childhood, that morning would be the remembrance of all the mornings before.
His eyes fell on the package he had for Lucy. He sighed. This was a sign…not the right time. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't tell her. He would have to wait.
Tumnus was lost in thought when a banging startled him so much he fumbled and dropped his tea. "Who is it?" He called, but the storm was too loud and the knocking continued. Muttering, he stood up and clattered to the door, winding his muffler tight about him as he went. He ripped open the door, looking slightly annoyed at having his thoughts interrupted.
"My goodness, that certainly took you long enough!" Lucy said, shivering, as the wind blew her in with a cloud of snow. She was bundled head to foot in furs, and she took off her hood and shook out long golden hair. Tumnus stared blankly at her, mouth open. "Well, what's the matter? Help me with these." She thrust her hood onto the shelf near his door. Tumnus shook his head and helped her out of the coat. The cave was so warm that already the snow was melting in puddles on the bare floor. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Tumnus." She brushed past him and settled in front of the fire.
Automatically, he got her a mug of tea from the kitchen and replaced his own spilled one. He joined her before the hearth. She was dressed in shimmering gold velvet, a shade darker than her hair, and her blue eyes stood out from her face like sapphires against snow. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink, and her flushed expression made him think of apples or cherries or—or something red, he thought, unaware that his mouth was still open.
"What are you doing here?" He asked, more rudely than he intended. She just laughed, sipping the tea.
"I wouldn't let you spend Christmas alone!" She declared, after swallowing the hot tea. "Not when I worked so hard to get you the perfect present."
"Queen Lucy," Tumnus mumbled, "you had no call getting me anything. Your friendship—"
"Yes, yes, my friendship is gift enough," Lucy interrupted, smiling at him with even white teeth. "You say that all the time—for Christmas, for your birthday, for everything. For ages, Mr. Tumnus. Surely the grace of my friendship has long since expired."
"N-no," Tumnus stammered, always amazed at how much wit Lucy had and how quickly she used it. Sharp as an arrow and twice as quick, Mr. Beaver had once said, and Tumnus only knew how true that was. "I hope you aren't too cold. Did you walk all this way?"
"Oh, no," Lucy said. "I had a centaur ride me out. It was awfully kind of him—you know how they dislike being treated like horses."
"Awfully kind," Tumnus repeated.
"Do you want to open your gift now?" Lucy said, standing up. "It's in my coat pocket. I'll just be a moment." She stood up—Tumnus saw the flash of heavy boots beneath the velvet hem—and she almost ran to get her coat from its hook. She shook it out and rummaged in the pockets, producing a brown paper bag and something wrapped cunningly in green tissue. She brought both back to the fire and cradled them on her lap. "Well, these are for us both."
"What?"
She held out the paper bag, and Tumnus hesitantly thrust his hand inside after she shook it invitingly. His fingers closed around something round and he drew out a large, fragrant orange. "Oh! Queen Lucy, you shouldn't have. Where did you get these?" His nostrils flared as he held the orange up to his nose. Tumnus adored fruit, and never seemed to have enough on hand.
"I stole them from the kitchens, it's not like I murdered anyone for them," Lucy laughed, pulling a second orange from the paper bag. "I have two more for after tea."
"Thank you," Tumnus said. "Let me," he smiled, watching her struggle to peel it. She handed him the fruit and he deftly broke the rind for her, handing it back to her. He watched her graceful fingers strip off the peel and toss it, all in one piece, into the fire. He followed suit, eyes still on her hands as she neatly broke the orange into sections, arraigning them carefully on a nearby plate. She made a circle out of them, and then unceremoniously popped a slice into her mouth.
"This morning was so much fun, I so wish you could have come," Lucy said, finishing the first slice of orange. She licked her lips carefully, and continued. "Next year you must promise to come Christmas Eve and stay the night. We'll make up an extra bed for you. It was just dreadful, waking up this morning and seeing the storm and knowing you'd be all alone out here—well, it couldn't keep, and I told Peter as soon as we'd opened our gifts that I'd be coming out here. Of course he fussed, but Edmund insisted that I be let to go. Susan backed me up, obviously." Her fingers searched for another bit of orange and she bit down on it. A trickle of juice curled down her chin, and she didn't bother to wipe it away. "And you must come back with me for dinner, if we possibly can make it. The storm's bound to let up sometime, you know, and we do have the best dinner on Christmas. Everything is cooked special! We ordered the roast from Calormene! They have such wonderful food in Calormene. I do wish Peter would do more trade with them, I could just die happy if I could eat Calormene food every day." The oranges were the exact color of the flames. The juicy orange burst between her pearl teeth. A spot of it dripped on the perfect golden velvet of her lap. Lucy's melodic voice went over his head, joining in with the howling of the wind. Her mouth was two crescents of oranges, her pink tongue darting out every once and again, her teeth sucking lips between them to taste the essence of orange. He could smell it on her, the orange, the scent of her hair, her perfume, the waxy makeup she used to darken her golden eyelashes—
"Mr. Tumnus?" He started. She was staring at him, a section of orange in her hand, halfway to her mouth. "Are you all right?"
He was sitting tense in his seat, fingers digging into his own orange. Juice was leaking all over his thighs and running down his forearm, dripping off his elbow onto the arm of his chair. His hooves scraped the earthen floor and the other hand was clenched on the wood of the chair, making it creak.
"Um," he said. "Excuse me, I'm sorry. It was—it was just such a good story," he finished lamely, feeling pitiful. He set the orange down quickly and looked at the fire, his lap, the floor—anywhere but her face.
He heard her chuckle under her breath, heard her shift her weight. He saw the heavy boots again, and then her hands were on his arms.
"Mr. Tumnus," she asked, her voice shy but her eyes on fire. "Did you get me a Christmas gift?"
He looked up at her and words failed him. He opened his mouth to speak and the sound caught in his throat. Helpless, he shrugged, and did the only thing left he could think of—he leaned up and kissed her.
Surprised, she moved backward for a moment, but the next instant she was melting into him and he could taste oranges and tea and her, most important of all. She collapsed in his lap, a rainfall of velvet, and his arms went around her back. Her long hair fell against his bare skin and he grabbed it in his fists, wondering how anything could be so soft. Her hands tugged his head back, fingers twined in his curls. Her boots were hard against his legs, her bare knees brushing his thighs. He cupped her bottom in his hands, the velvet moving against her skin like a thin rind, like peach fuzz. Her chest pressed against his as her knees went on either side of his hips, her round breasts painfully obvious against his skin. She broke the kiss, gasping for breath.
"Um," he said again, wondering if he could breathe himself.
"That was not entirely proper." she said finally, knees still on either side of him.
"Oh, Aslan," he gasped, struggling to free himself from underneath her. "Oh, Lucy, I am so sorry, I never meant—"
"It's about time," she concluded, hiking the velvet up to her waist. His hands were against her bare skin.
"I think—I think you forgot your drawers," he whispered, obviously embarrassed and painfully aroused.
"I didn't forget anything," Lucy replied, drawing his hands to her breasts. He felt her shifting her weight, but he had waited too long for it to be so sudden. He stopped her, knee between her thighs, and laughed at the expression on her face.
"No," he said gently, picking her up. He wrapped his arms around her and, with little difficulty, undid the row of tiny silk-covered buttons that fastened her dress up the spine. The back of the dress fell open, and he ran his hands over her warm skin, goose bumps rising to meet his fingertips.
He laid her out before the fire, glittering, and he simply stood and looked at her for a moment. Her knees crooked and her arms went above her head, long hair spread like molten gold—like a halo, like the angels from the Pevensies' Bible she had so often spoken about. Her nipples were a pale pink and her entire body was washed gold by the flames. Her fingertips, he noticed, were stained faintly orange—but that could have been a trick of the light.
"Lucy," he murmured. She smiled, blue eyes fiercer than the storm outside. "You're beautiful."
"No," she replied. "It's you that makes me beautiful."
"I do have a gift for you," he said, and she raised her head in some interest. He leaned over and took a small brown-paper package off of the table. "Here."
She lifted up her hands to take it, sitting up. Her stomach curved delicately down to a soft yellow triangle and Tumnus couldn't help staring. She unwrapped the package and opened a wooden box, and her gasp caused him to look up.
"Oh," she said, the diamond flashing like a spark in the firelight. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus."
"You don't have to say anything right now," he said humbly, unsure of what to do—a naked girl on his floor, his future held in her hands.
"I do have something to say," Lucy said finally, after an aching second of silence.
Tumnus swallowed, his mouth dry.
"Come here," Lucy said, pulling the dazzling ring from its cushion. It was not very large, but the cut was good, and it had cost Tumnus most of his savings—something he would never let her know. He bent to her, as she slipped the ring onto her left hand, and her mouth found his again. Lips against lips, her thigh pressed between his, and he enveloped her in his arms. Tipping her head back for him to kiss, she murmured, "I have always loved you."
"I was so hoping you would say that, my dear," Tumnus replied, voice barely a whisper. His fingertips trailed over her breasts and ribs, down her belly. He pressed gently, and her legs fell open. Nudging them wider with his elbows, he cautiously stroked where he had never dreamed she would let him, and her mouth formed a perfect rosebud as it puckered, her face contorting in pleasure. He kissed her again, his shyness leaving him, and her eager arms and lifting hips let him know she reciprocated everything he felt. Slowly he entered her, hating the little gasp of pain. Her smooth legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him close, and he rested his cheek in the crook of her neck. He felt her smile with each thrust, the heat from her body and from the fire threatening to overwhelm her.
In moments like this, time passes so slowly it seems to stop. It races by at the speed of light. Too soon, Tumnus collapsed over Lucy, breath heavy, her own whimpers in his soft ear. She sighed, long and low, and for a moment he feared her regret. Struggling to lift himself to look in her face, he blurted out thousands of meaningless things—sounds and noises, no more coherent than the blizzard outside.
"Stop." Her voice was a pillar. He stopped. "Don't you dare move." He froze, clutching her like a lifeline. "You don't have to say a word."
"I love you," he said, kissing her softly. Her blue eyes closed briefly. "I love you and I want to pledge so many things to you, I want to gush about your beauty. How can I tell you? I want to tell you that I'm always thinking of you. I want you to be the only woman in the world—there is so much to tell you. How can I say it all? But I can't think of right words to say."
Lucy leaned up and captured his lips. "Sometimes the rights words are no words at all."
Neither noticed that outside, the storm had stopped and the sun was gently glowing down on all the world. Two fell asleep before a dying fire, and peace on earth was no closer attained than in that moment.
"Merry Christmas," she murmured before falling asleep.
"Merry Christmas, Lucy," he replied, and those were the only two words that could ever fit.