Summary: Tumnus, his father, and his grandfather experience, in a series of vignettes, the arrival, the duration, and ultimately the end of the Hundred Year Winter.
Author's Note: This story will be divided into three chapters. This first chapter deals with the experiences of Tumnus' grandfather and grandmother when the Hundred Year Winter first begins. The next two chapters will actually feature Tumnus (and his father). I hope that you will enjoy this story, even if it does not start with canon characters, and that you will find that these vignettes cohere in a manner that is, ultimately meaningful.
Disclaimer: I don't own the world of Narnia (since I'm not the White Witch, even though I do have pale skin) and the lyrics to "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" are not my property. That being said, I do own the original faun characters who appear in this fic, so, should you happen to have the urge to use any of them, please ask before borrowing them.
Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Young girls picked them every one.
When will they ever learn?
Snow
"See you tomorrow," shouted the mixed group of young fauns and satyrs who had been accompanying Cirius and his best friend Nanaia down the woodland lane home from the school that held them captive for far too many hours a week in Cirius' not-so-humble opinion.
"Goodbye," Cirius and Nanaia called out in unison, turning down a small, dirt path that led to both their families' stone abodes, which neighbored each other. That was probably why Cirius' and Nanaia's mothers had begun to have them play together from the time they were first born twelve years ago.
"So, how did you do on that algebra exam, anyway?" asked Cirius, shooting his friend a sidelong glance. "You were very quiet when the rest of us were discussing our marks."
"If someone attempts to keep a dignified and careful silence on a subject, it's extremely rude to press them to speak." Wrinkling her nose, which was splotched with freckles, at him, she elbowed him in the ribs. "Anyway, I got a sixty-five. Are you happy now?"
"No." Cirius shook his head, suddenly grateful for his solidly satisfactory seventy-eight. Seventy-eight wasn't anything a reasonably intelligent person would have cause to celebrate, but it wasn't a grade a fair parent could punish a child over—or so Cirius hoped his parents would think. You could hardly punish somebody for being satisfactory, could you? "That's horrible, Nanaia."
"I know." Nanaia tugged anxiously at one of her long auburn braids that nearly reached her waist. Her clover eyes snapping, she added frigidly, planting her hands on her hips, "You don't need to scold. My parents can lecture me enough without you helping them."
"Not if you can convince them that D stands for 'delightful.'" With a sly grin, Cirius hooked his arm through one of the circles Nanaia's arms made, resting as they were on her hips.
"Don't be ridiculous," Nanaia scoffed, but her eyes had softened. "That's the oldest lie in the book. If my parents fall for it, they don't deserve to be parents at all."
Nanaia sighed, removed the arm that Cirius' wasn't linked to from her hip, used it to tap nervously on one of the horns poking out of her head, and went on in a quieter, subdued voice, "I'm not going to be able to sit for a week once Father knows how poorly I did."
"Can't you try to convince him that you did your best?" said Cirius, biting his lower lip.
"I can try." Doubt shaded Nanaia's eyes as she, too, chomped on her lip. "But he might not believe it, seeing as we spent the day before the exam picking apples, not studying, and, of course, he won't believe me when I say that, given how hopeless I am with mathematics of any sort, it wouldn't have made any difference. Stupid algebra and stupid me. What a horrid combination!"
Cirius opened his mouth to say something soothing and sympathetic, but was distracted when several cold, wet droplets landed on his hair, cheeks, and nose.
"Snow!" Nanaia exclaimed, her misery replaced entirely by merriment as she pointed excitedly at the white, crystalline flakes drifting gently toward the ground like powdered sugar sprinkled onto fudge cake. "The first snowfall is always so magical, isn't it? Oh, and it came so early this year!"
"And look how it's sticking!" Laughing, Cirius beat a joyful caper in the snow, his hooves leaving marks in the bans already beginning to accumulate beneath their feet.
"Maybe we won't have school tomorrow at all!" Giggling giddily, Nanaia clapped her hands. "Perhaps we'll have enough snow overnight that school will be cancelled and tomorrow night we'll have the first dance of the winter. Maybe Father and Mother will be so distracted by the snowfall that they won't even think to ask me how I did on the wretched algebra exam."
"I can think of someone who is distracted by the snow." His hazelnut eyes glinting mischievously, Cirius swiftly bent to scoop up a snowball, which he lobbed at Nanaia's shoulder, prompting her to shriek when it made cold, hard, and wet contact with her cloak.
"I hope you are turned into an icicle for the rest of your life," screamed Nanaia, hurling a snowball at Cirius' cheek.
"I hope you are buried so deep in snow that even the mining dwarfs won't be able to find you," retorted Cirius, trying and failing to dodge the wet missile she tossed at his face, and then throwing one of his own at her.
Dance
It was the following night, and snow blanketed the ground in the forest clearing where fauns, satyrs, tree spirits, dwarfs, and an assortment of talking woodland creatures had assembled for the Great Snow Dance, which occurred every year on the first moonlit night when snow covered the ground. Yellow pinpricks of stars shone in the obsidian sky above and the full moon glistened like a diamond in the heavens, while, on earth, fauns and wood spirits whirled around in a circle in a complex dance designed centuries ago by their ancestors, and dwarfs, sitting in a scarlet-cloaked rim outside the ever-winding circle, launched snowballs through the weaving arms and legs of the dancers.
Cirius, who had been making snowballs for the dwarfs to through because he wouldn't be permitted to partake in the actual dance until next year, smiled as he crossed over to a table on which hot drinks and desserts had been placed. He had been planning to grab a ginger biscuit or a slice of caramel-apple teacake, but all thoughts of dessert vanished when he saw that his father and several other fauns had their heads bent close together over the table, their voices soft and fervid, and their faces flushed crimson with more than just the cold.
Deciding that eavesdropping couldn't wait and dessert could, Cirius swerved behind the trunk of a towering elm and strained his ears towed the conversation in which his father was currently engaged.
"The first snowfall came so strong and so early this year that my family and I didn't even have a chance to gather all our crops in," Cirius' father was saying, clutching his goblet of mulled cider tightly in his gloved hand. "I just hope that we harvested enough food to last us until spring. We certainly didn't gather enough to sell in the market."
"It's a bad year all around, Belenus," commented Nanaia's father, Consus, shaking his head grimly. "My ears have been to the ground like a rabbit's, and from what I've heard, this early winter is caused by nothing other than the White Witch's spells. I've even heard it on the grapevine that she intends to make it always winter and never spring."
Cirius, who may not have been the sharpest faun in his class, but who still knew enough to realize that there were four seasons in a year in Narnia and that it couldn't remain one season forever, was about to snort, but remembered just in time that this would reveal his presence to his father. He didn't want to lose a wonderful eavesdropping opportunity, so he contented himself with an internal derisive noise at the low quality of contemporary Narnian gossip.
"In the spring, I can use that rumor to fertilize my wife's vegetable garden," grunted Cirius' father. "You know quite well, Consus, that I don't believe in crazy rumors or weather predictions, both of which are always wrong, unless, of course, the latter are made by centaurs."
"Belenus, she's already taken over the country," Nanaia's father pointed out heavily. "If anyone can make it always winter, she can. I mean, who is to say what horrible magic she can work with that dreadful wand of hers?"
"It's the very fact that she's conquered the country that makes me confident that she won't make it always winter and never spring," argued Cirius' father, his lips pressing together into a grave line. "People take over countries in order to increase their wealth, and it isn't profitable to have a land where it is forever winter, so no crops can grow or be harvested. Even the dumbest of the giants could figure out that."
"From what I've heard, the White Witch is interested in power, not wealth," Nanaia's father said, his forehead furrowing like a field before spring planting. "She'll be able to control Narnia a lot more effectively if she controls the food supply entirely, and I'll bet everything I inherited from my dear parents that she has a spell that allows her to grow crops in this cold weather."
Cirius' father opened his mouth to respond, seemed to recognize that his son was eavesdropping, and remarked, shooting a burning glance in Cirius' direction, "I've heard that she has spies everywhere, even in the trees, so perhaps we ought to continue this discussion in a more private location."
His cheeks flaming, Cirius edged away from the elm, trying to drift back into the knot of children making snowballs for the dwarfs, rather than running the risk of attracting more attention to himself by snatching up a dessert from the snack table. However, his plan was foiled when he tripped over Nanaia, who was wrapped up in a woolen blanket, her spine pressed against the bark of the most ancient oak in this primeval glade.
"Graceful as a swan as always," she grumbled acerbically, glaring up at him as she rubbed her ankle.
"Pleasant as a wasp as usual," he snapped back, scowling down at her as he massaged his toe, wondering why his boot couldn't have provided more protection.
"Well, there isn't any permanent damage done, I suppose," Nanaia observed in an exaggeratedly magnanimous tone, patting the ground beside her. "Have a seat, oaf, and where your welcome out, as if you haven't already done so."
Smiling slightly, Cirius slipped down beside her, and she pulled the blanket over both of them. Now their arms and elbows touched, sharing warmth, and only their faces felt the chilly winter wind, which beat cherries into their cheeks.
"Have a ginger biscuit." Under the blanket, Nanaia thrust the dessert into Cirius' palm, and, for a second, as their fingers were entwined, he felt a weird heat that he had never experienced before surging through his veins. "I know that you wanted one earlier, but you couldn't get it without running the risk of being punished for eavesdropping."
"Thanks." Ducking his head in the hope that Nanaia would not be able to see or suspect that his blush might stem from more than just the weather, Cirius bit into the biscuit. As soon as he did so, he discovered that it was a perfect ginger biscuit—warm, soft, sweet, and spicy all at once and without contradiction. "It's delicious."
"After Mother and I slaved over them for hours this morning, they better be, or I'm not picking up another cooking utensil in my life," Nanaia said, sounding as if this were a joke meant to be taken seriously.
"They're so good I should have my mother get your mother's recipe," Cirius told her, grinning at her, and taking advantage of the chance to watch her curl into the tree as if it were the most comfortable of cushions. The moon overhead was so large that he could see her profile illuminated: the crystal clarity of her gleaming green eyes, and the shimmer of her auburn hair.
"You don't have to do that." She leaned closer to him to whisper this directly into his ear. He felt her leg against his and her breath tickle the tender skin beneath his ear, tantalizing him so much that he almost didn't hear her murmur, "I could always give you the recipe myself, because we're going to be friends forever, aren't we?"
"Friends forever," he agreed, sliding his palm into hers and winding his fingers around hers. He knew the shape of her hands and the texture of her flesh almost as well as he did his own, but he had never been as conscious of her or her body as he was now. He didn't like this feeling of extreme awareness of her, but he liked it, too, and that bewildered him more than anything else in his life ever had.
Somehow, it was as if he had never really touched her before now. As their hands folded together, something moved between them—a current that felt alive. Something had broken free inside him, and he choked out, "Nanaia."
"I feel it, too." Her voice was little more than a breath."Isn't this funny? Isn't this the strangest thing?"
"No," he said, feeling as if his own words and emotions were strangling him. "Nothing could be more serious."
"You're always so serious." Tightening her grip on his hand, she put her lips against his cheek, but she didn't kiss him—she just rested there, her lips like butterflies on his skin. In that instant, he felt a connection that bound him to her forever, no matter what. He wanted to scream her name. He wanted to never move from under this warm blanket in the cold snow. He wanted to stroke the ends of her glowing hair and inhale the scent that wafted from her skin. "You need to lighten up."
"I'll always lighten up," he whispered, "when I remember this night."
"No snowfall was ever as magical as this," she answered, her lips warmer and softer than he could have possibly imagined. "What a merry dance we've had tonight."
Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the young girls gone?
Long time ago.
Where have all the young girls gone?
Gone to young men every one.
When will they ever learn?
Spring
"What's the capital of Archenland?" Nanaia asked Cirius. They were huddled onto a sofa beside the hearth in Cirius' home, even though it should have been spring now, and they shouldn't have needed to hunch around the fire for warmth. School was coming to an end for the year, but it didn't feel like it at all—it still felt like the middle of winter- which made it difficult to study for the final geography exam they would be subjected to tomorrow afternoon. Nothing hurt academic motivation like a seemingly eternal winter, thought Cirius.
"Come on, Cirius, you know this," Nanaia said, rolling her eyes impatiently when he had been silent for too long.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "Could you repeat the question?"
"What's the capital of Archenland?" Nanaia replied. "I can write the question in big block letters for you, too, if you're deaf."
"I'm not deaf," Cirius informed her haughtily. "It's Tashbaan."
"You may not be deaf, but you sure are dumb." Nanaia smirked at him. "Tashbaan is the capital of Calormen, not Archenland."
"It doesn't matter." Cirius made a dismissive gesture. "Nobody will be traveling to Archenland or Calormen any time soon in this terrible weather. You wouldn't believe it was Greenleaf, would you, with that blizzard we had yesterday?"
"Spring should have arrived weeks ago." Nanaia sighed and tilted her head back against the sofa cushions. "I don't understand how it can be as cold as it was three months ago."
"Spring should be here," Cirius agreed, "but there is more snow and ice on the ground than there was at the start of winter. That just isn't right."
Then, remembering the conversation he had overhead at the first winter dance, which had been hovering on his mind more and more recently as winter obstinately refused to thaw into any semblance of spring, he craned his neck to ask his father, who was carving a tool at the kitchen table, "Will spring ever come again, Father?"
"I've never heard of a year without spring." Belenus shrugged. "Then again, I've never heard of creatures being turned to stone, either, so, if the Witch can turn creatures to stone, what is to stop her from taking away winter?"
"She can turn creatures to stone?" echoed Cirius, horrified. He couldn't imagine having to stand still forever, when having to remain seated without excessive wriggling in school for several hours was torture enough. He couldn't picture what it would be like to spend eternity unable to talk when it was hard enough to resist the temptation to whisper to Nanaia, who sat beside him in school, whenever lessons got dull. He couldn't envision what it would be like to be unable to sneeze or scratch himself when the urge struck. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be unable to laugh, smile, shout, or cry. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to not breathe when he could barely hold his breath for a minute in a contest with Nanaia. He couldn't understand what it would be like to stare into space forever when he could only force himself to do such a thing for a moment or two.
"Your father is just speaking a load of nonsense in a foolish attempt to give you gooseflesh," Cirius' mother Phaedra said, glaring at her husband as she stirred a pot of carrot soup that was sizzling over the stove, filling the room with its appetizing, pungent aroma. Her fury and fervor alerting Cirius to the fact that his father wasn't speaking a load of nonsense more effectively than anything else could have, she added heatedly, "He ought to be too old for such cruel sport at the expense of children, but he insists that remaining young at heart involves retaining the very worst characteristics of childhood."
Nanaia, after gaping, appalled, at Cirius for a moment that would be etched forever in his memory, burst into tears, saying, "I w-w-wanted a spring wedding with daises braided into my hair like ribbons, and now no flowers will ever bloom come any spring."
As Phaedra abandoned her cooking and bustled over to wrap Nanaia in the comforting embrace she had enfolded Cirius in whenever his nightmares were too vivid or too real, Cirius swallowed hard. The way Nanaia had glanced at him before talking about her wedding surely meant that she had always wanted to be married to him, and that idea made him feel warm. With Nanaia by his side, it would always be spring in his heart, he told himself, even if it remained always winter in Narnia. That was especially true, he realized, because Nanaia made his head swim with seasons—her hair contained all the rich colors of autumn leaves; her eyes were the bright green of verdant spring grass; her smile was as wide as any summer sun.