TRAGEDY AND TRIUMPH

Presenting part 21, the second-to-last chapter of my story! Arm yourselves with lots and lots of tissues; this one's gonna be one heck of a tear-jerker!

Anyone who has not shed at least one tear by now must have a heart of pure stone…

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

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

Part 21

After Oreius had gone his own way, Tumnus returned his father's portrait to his own private room. Then the young faun spent the next ten or fifteen minutes wandering aimlessly about the palace. His legs ultimately ended up carrying him outside, into one of the spacious courtyards.

The early afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm on his face and shoulders, and though he couldn't see it at the time, the soothing lull of the sea sounded in his ears.

Tumnus went to stand under one of the apple trees that grew in the yard. There he allowed himself to rest against the sturdy trunk, feeling the roughness of the bark on his bare skin.

He lifted his face slowly toward the heavens, seeing his father's face with his mind's eye. Tumnus silently wondered whether Anlon could see him from where he was at that time, even if he, himself, couldn't see Anlon. He wondered whether his father would be able to hear him if he spoke to him out loud, even if he never received an answer.

Either way, Tumnus felt the need to tell his father what he would have told him if Anlon were standing before him today, to get everything off his chest.

Since there was nobody around just then, the faun decided it was safe enough to talk.

"Father," he said to the empty air, "I know it has been a long time since you have passed on…and yet I miss you, more than ever. I know you're gone, but my heart still longs for you. In spite of everything, I wish you were here now…you, as well as Mother. I wish, at the very least, that you and I could have said goodbye to each other, before you died."

He sighed, and bowed his head abjectly to his chest, regretting that he'd never even had the chance to bid his father a proper farewell. So much had been stolen away from him.

If only things could have turned out differently. If only Tumnus had been a better son, if only he had respected his father better—if only he could talk to his father, if nothing else, and hear with his own ears that Anlon forgave him for everything. If Tumnus just knew that Anlon forgave him, and didn't hate him for the past, then it would be easier for Tumnus to cope with his father's death. It was bad enough that Anlon was gone forever; knowing that he might have died hating Tumnus was far more than Tumnus could bear.

Once again, Tumnus felt the all-too-familiar sting of tears come to his eyes, felt his shoulders begin to quake involuntarily, and he bent his head further and buried his face in his hands.

"Forgive me, Father," he groaned weakly, with his head down. "Forgive me. I'm so sorry. I am so sorry…for everything."

His emotions got the better of him, and the young faun wept poignantly into his hands for a good while, feeling the warm wetness of his tears as they poured steadily out of him. His tears found their way through his trembling fingers, down the heels of his palms, dripping all the way to the ground. After Tumnus had mourned for his father for some time, something unusual came over him: his legs simply gave out altogether from under him, like they could suddenly no longer bear him up, and he fell to the ground and lay flat on his face in the grass, as one dead.

Tumnus now found himself in a strange place, where nearly everything seemed to be made of green and gold, bathed in radiant light, or falling into soft purple and blue shadow. There was not another soul to be seen around the area, at least from what Tumnus could see. And although it was quiet and peaceful there, the faun was frantic with worry and loneliness.

He was at an utter loss of where he was, or where he ought to go, or what he ought to do.

But as Tumnus stood there, on the verge of despairing, a soft, oddly familiar voice spoke to him from the distance, like the melodic peal of a bell: "Tumnus."

Turning his head in one direction, Tumnus saw a pair of fauns standing side by side in a pool of heavenly light, watching him together.

One was a small, petite female, the other a tall, strapping male. The female had a slim, willowy build, and her hair was a lavish waterfall of the purest gold. Her face was the loveliest of any faun or any feminine creature Tumnus had ever seen. The male standing next to her appeared very tough and rugged, yet remarkably handsome. His hair was a curly black nimbus, and the fur on his powerful stag-like legs was also a deep and glossy black. His face very much resembled Tumnus's face, with a few evident exceptions here and there.

Looking more closely at the two, Tumnus suddenly realized who they were.

"Mother?" he gasped disbelievingly. "Father?"

Could it truly be? Was it possible?

For a time Tumnus remained stone-still on the spot, as if he were yet again a statue in the White Witch's courtyard. When nothing changed, when the figures did not mysteriously vanish into thin air, when it dawned on Tumnus that he was truly seeing what he was seeing, his heart filled to overflowing, and tears of joy began to flood over and spill from his eyes.

As if launched from a catapult, the young faun sprinted straight in his parents' direction, as swiftly as he'd ever run in his life. His hooves seemed to almost fly over the ground. He thought he would never get to his parents quick enough; no sooner had he reached them than he flung himself into their awaiting arms, embracing them both with all the strength and passion that was in him. "Tumnus," he heard his mother croon affectionately into his ear. "Oh, my Tumnus." Alethea's voice was like soft summer wind, rushing through a field of soft flowers.

Tumnus was weeping far too hard to answer her right away. All he could do was cling to her for dear life, and let his tears fall freely.

Though neither his mother nor his father appeared to be wrapped in flesh, their bodies felt warm and solid.

Drawing back at some point to face them properly, a part of Tumnus obstinately insisted that these two fauns couldn't possibly be his parents, for Anlon and Alethea were both dead.

Yet it had to be them.

Looking more intently at his father, Tumnus could see an ugly knife wound in Anlon's chest, the official testament to what Jadis had done to him that fateful night on the Stone Table. While the wound was clean and bloodless, it made Tumnus's stomach constrict and his heart sicken just to look at it. And looking more closely at his mother, Alethea's face appeared somewhat white, and her entire frame seemed considerably fragile. From what Tumnus could see, his parents appeared to him now the way they had been the day they'd passed away.

But, never mind all that. The only thing that really, truly mattered was that Tumnus was reunited with his parents, that they stood with him here and now, in some form.

"I miss you both so much," he told his mother and father yearningly.

"And we you, dear heart," his mother answered gently, as she smoothed his unruly curls away from his brow, just as she used to do when Tumnus was but a small child.

Anlon merely closed his eyes and dipped his head in solemn concurrence with his wife.

"Why did you have to go?" The question had sprung from Tumnus's lips before he was even aware of it, and it had every last bit of his heart and soul in it.

"Everything in the world has its season, Tumnus," Alethea explained patiently, in her sweet, musical voice. "We're born, we live for a time, we die. One thing falls, another grows in its place. That is simply the way it is, love. That is the cycle of life." She smiled endearingly at her son, her sapphire eyes never once drifting from Tumnus's face.

"I never wanted either of you to die," Tumnus said, his voice cracking, tears of grief and despair and regret now sliding heedlessly down his face, leaving hot, salty trails on his skin.

He turned his tearful eyes to Anlon, beseeching him. "Father…I am so, so sorry, for all that had happened. All the horrible things I've said, all the dreadful things I've done…I am truly sorry. I'm such a terrible son, the very worst son there ever was since the beginning of the world, I would assume. Oh, Father, forgive me. I beg you, please, forgive me…"

"I already forgave you, my son, long before you'd even asked," Anlon answered him very quietly, his countenance gentle and empathetic. "And I, in turn, pray you to forgive me, for the tremendous ill I have done you. Perhaps things might not have turned out the way they did, Tumnus, had I not been so rough and so forceful on you." The elder faun closed his eyes again and shook his head ruefully, causing his ebony curls to sway back and forth in his face. "Alas, there is no way of ever knowing what could have happened." Gazing earnestly at Tumnus once more, he added on, "Yet in spite of everything, Tumnus, I have always loved you; and, on the whole, I can truly say that I am proud to call you my son."

Hearing his father speak these words, in this way, pierced Tumnus to the very core. The younger faun felt his tears rain down faster than ever, and he gave out a choked sob.

Moving slightly closer to his son, placing both his hands upon Tumnus's trembling shoulders, Anlon entreated, "Will you forgive me, Tumnus? Can you forgive me? Can you find it in your heart to ever forgive me, for everything?"

Tumnus didn't hesitate to throw his arms around his father, and cling fervently to him.

"Of course, Father," he sobbed into Anlon's ear. "Of course, I forgive you." The instant such words passed from his lips, he knew them from the bottom of his heart to be true.

"Oh, my son…"

Tumnus knew, from the faint tremor in Anlon's voice, and from the warm and unbroken flow of tears rushing down his own neck, that his father had begun to weep also, just like a newborn lamb, all masculinity and dignity abandoned. Together, the two males embraced and wept and wept for what seemed ages, their tears washing away the pain and the sorrow from the past years; at some point, Alethea edged closer to the pair and enveloped both her husband and her son in her arms at the same time, though she did not cry herself.

When, in the end, they managed to relinquish their grip on one another, Tumnus begged, "Tell me, Mother, Father…is it really you? Is this really happening to me, really and truly?"

"Really and truly, Tumnus," a mighty voice spoke, that was neither Anlon's nor Alethea's.

With a slight start, Tumnus turned to look over his shoulder—and saw Aslan himself ambling toward them, taking graceful, unhurried steps, his splendid mane shining radiantly about him, like a golden halo. Tumnus had no idea where the Great Lion had come from, or how he even got there (let alone how he'd gotten there himself to begin with), but he felt his heart leap with joy at the sight of him. "Aslan!" he cried, unable to hide just how pleased he was to see the Great Golden Lion again.

"Yes, Tumnus, it is I," Aslan verified, as he drew up alongside the little group. Tumnus did not hesitate to kneel at the Lion's feet and kiss his paws, and he felt Aslan nuzzle the top of his head affectionately, blowing warm breath into the faun's hair. When Tumnus looked up later to face him properly, Aslan lightly pressed his nose against Tumnus's brow in sign of blessing.

"I'm so glad you're here, Aslan," Tumnus confessed, as he climbed once more to his hooves. "I have missed you."

"Didn't I say that I would come when the time was right, Tumnus?" Aslan inquired of him. But his amber eyes were twinkling, so Tumnus knew he really wasn't angry. "I am here one day, elsewhere the next. I am, after all…"

"…not a tame lion," Tumnus filled in the rest of the sentence for him, giving a short laugh.

Aslan now turned to Anlon and Alethea, who in turn bowed humbly before the Great Lion.

"Greetings, Aslan," said Anlon reverently. Looking meaningfully toward Tumnus, he added on, "I see you have met my son."

Aslan nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and a tender smile illuminated the beast's majestic face as he regarded Tumnus.

"Indeed, your son is a fine and most remarkable faun, Anlon. But then, that is no surprise."

Tumnus felt himself blush fiercely at Aslan's words of praise, and he laughed self-consciously. A moment later, his weak smile melted from his face altogether.

"But, Aslan," he said softly, "I don't understand."

"What is not to understand, my son?"

"Well," said Tumnus, faltering somewhat, "both my mother and my father are supposed to be dead, aren't they? They've been dead for many years."

"Oh, yes," Aslan replied calmly, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Then, does this mean that I'm…I'm…" Tumnus couldn't bring himself to say it, but Aslan understood perfectly what the young faun meant to say.

"Oh, no, Tumnus. You are as alive as I am, as anyone else on earth today."

"Then how did I get here?" Glancing about curiously at his surroundings, Tumnus questioned, "What is this place?"

"Somewhere between the living and the non-living, Tumnus," the Great Lion replied vaguely.

"Is this truly for real, Aslan? Or, am I merely dreaming?"

Aslan chuckled heartily at this. "Of course, you are dreaming, my son. But why should that ever mean that none of it is for real?"

Both Anlon and Alethea laughed at this, and Tumnus joined them, unable to help himself.

And then Aslan grew genuinely solemn.

"Truly, Tumnus, your sufferings have been very great," the Great Lion declared earnestly, his eyes radiating deep sorrow, and infinite love and compassion. "You have borne a tremendously heavy load these countless years, a burden few creatures could have or would have been able to sustain. You carry a grievous wound that has only just barely begun to heal."

"Will I ever be healed of this, Aslan?" Tumnus asked sorrowfully. "Will the pain ever leave?"

"That, my son, depends entirely on you. You decide for yourself whether or not the pain will be fully healed. It will only have as much power over you as you give it. And, as it is with all wounds, the wound in your heart cannot be cured within an instant. It will require some time, and help, in order for it to mend thoroughly and properly."

"Why, Aslan?" Tumnus couldn't help asking. "Why did my parents have to die? Why was I spared, while they're gone forever?"

Aslan answered the faun's questions with questions of his very own: "Do you truly think the ones we love are gone for good, Tumnus, when they are no longer physically with us? Do you believe that simply because you can't see your mother or your father every day like you'd used to, it inevitably means they have ceased to exist?"

He shook his head gently, rippling his mane. "No, my son. Your parents live within you. They are a part of you, and always will be, regardless of whatever happens. What you say, what you do in your life, is a manifestation of what they had done in their lives, a continuation of their legacy." Looking toward Anlon and Alethea, Aslan went on perceptively, "Your parents have returned to my father's land, and are only here with you now, in this form, for a brief time…so that you may have the opportunity to make peace with them, that you may all bid one another a proper farewell before you continue on with your life, while they leave this life behind and move on to what is next."

"He is right, dear heart," Alethea spoke up then. "Our time is short, and we must do what we must do now, before we depart."

She therefore drew Tumnus into her arms for one final embrace, cradling his body against her own. Tumnus could feel his mother's delicate fingers toying absently with the curls at the base of his neck, and he could smell the flowers in her hair. "Goodbye, my darling," Alethea whispered to him; in her voice, he heard a love and a longing deeper than he would have imagined possible. "I wish more than anyone else that I could have had more time to know you, that I could have watched you grow and develop into the faun you have become."

All too soon, she let Tumnus go, then Anlon stretched forth his hand and clasped Tumnus's shoulder, saying simply, "Take care, son."

A sudden, terrible, unbearable ache seized hold of Tumnus's breast. He wanted his parents to stay with him, both of them. He did not want to have to say goodbye again, especially this soon. Even in this form, at least they were here, where he could see them, hear them, and touch them for himself. Letting his mother and father go was the very last thing he wanted to do. He doubted his heart could suffer losing them again, that he'd ever have the strength or the will to live his life alone, without them.

Almost without thinking, he blurted out, "Take me with you."

Anlon shook his head in objection to this. "No, my son," he said, speaking firmly yet gently. "It is not yet your time."

Alethea added benevolently, "Your father and I have already lived our seasons on earth, Tumnus. Our time has ended…but your time has only just begun."

"But I can't make it without you, Mother," Tumnus protested, as new tears welled up within his eyes, feeling his heart breaking. "I can't survive without you. With you and Father gone, I have nothing left. My life has no true meaning, or purpose."

"Not so, Tumnus," Anlon disagreed, but without malice or contempt. "You have a purpose, a mission in the world that you have yet to accomplish. And you have your friends, the ones who love you and care about you." He glanced over briefly at Aslan, and his voice and expression softened considerably. "And, of course, above all else, you have Aslan, who will strengthen you and support you in all that you do, if you only give him the chance."

"W-will you wait for me?" Tumnus quavered.

"Dearest Tumnus, we are already waiting for you," his mother said mellifluously, brushing a trail of tears from his cheek. "Even now, at this time, we eagerly anticipate your return."

"We will meet again," Anlon assured his son. "Take courage, son. Heaven knows you'll need it in the times ahead."

Tumnus now shifted his anguished, prayerful gaze to Aslan.

"Aslan, please…tell me I will see my parents again," he implored. "Please promise me I will indeed be reunited with them someday. I can't bear the thought of never being with them. I just can't."

"Peace, Tumnus," Aslan consoled him. "Do not be afraid, and do not lose hope. When your time comes, when your mortal life is over, you will be with your parents again. You will all take place with me in my father's land, where you shall live forever. A temporary separation is a small price to pay if you're together for all eternity, is it not?"

Tumnus sniffed and attempted vainly to wipe his tears away, only to have new ones take their place.

"I suppose it is," he said throatily. "But it still hurts nonetheless, Aslan. It is still a horrible tragedy, all the same."

To this, Aslan looked the young faun very gravely in the eye, and told him evocatively, "Death is not the worst fate that can befall someone, Tumnus. Every creature dies. It is not the death of the body that is so terrible, but rather the death of the spirit, and the darkness of the heart. To live without love and commitment, to live a life of ignorance and obscurity and waste, to be cut off from all that which is good and right…that is the real tragedy."

The Lion's words, spoken with wisdom beyond all earthly knowledge, overwhelmed Tumnus completely, leaving him utterly speechless. Once or twice he began to open his mouth, but then gave up on speaking altogether, and merely looked at Anlon and Alethea one last time. How young and beautiful they both looked, in this light. For a moment, it seemed incredible to Tumnus that he should be the son of this pair. He felt an even greater love for them, and an even deeper yearning for their company, were such a thing possible.

He stared long and hard into their faces, absorbing their images like a sponge absorbing water, not wanting to ever forget the way they looked.

Aslan now smiled at Tumnus. "Don't worry," he said, speaking very softly and very kindly. "They'll be all right, and many others like them. Anlon and Alethea shall always be with you, as will I. Their memory is a flame that will never completely go out. Let their memory strengthen you and uphold you throughout your life, my beloved Tumnus. And may the thought of them bring you joy from this time on, rather than grief." Tumnus had to smile himself as he looked back at Aslan; he doubted there was a single thing the Great Lion didn't know or understand.

He felt his father's presence at his side, and he turned to face Anlon. "It's really him, isn't it, Father?" he said in a hushed voice.

Anlon nodded. "It is."

He then pulled Tumnus closer, wrapped his sturdy arms gently around his son's shoulders, and held him for a long time—something he had never done before when he was alive. Tumnus was taken aback at this, but he didn't pull away, and he didn't hesitate to return his father's heartfelt embrace.

With his face buried under the elder faun's beard, with the feel of Anlon's reassuring warmth on his skin, Tumnus closed his eyes and sighed, willing this moment to last forever.

"Go with Aslan, my son," he heard Anlon murmur to him.

"And you, Father," Tumnus whispered fervently. "I love you."

"I love you, son."

"Tumnus! Tumnus, are you all right?"

With a start, Tumnus opened his eyes to find himself sprawled on his back in the courtyard of Cair Paravel, with his head propped off the ground. The first one he saw was Oreius, standing over him. Then he saw Romulus, who was kneeling in the grass behind Tumnus, holding his mate's head in his lap. Mr. Rabbit, King Edmund, and Beaver were there, too.

All of them looked extremely worried.

It was Edmund who'd first ventured outside and discovered Tumnus lying facedown on the ground. In a great panic, the young king had bolted right back into the castle for help.

And it was Oreius who had been calling frantically for Tumnus, asking him if he was all right.

"Tumnus!" gasped Mr. Rabbit, his eyes bulging, his whiskers quivering. "What happened?"

"Are you all right?" Oreius asked again.

Blinking bemusedly, Tumnus answered, "I…I guess so."

Romulus helped push him to a sitting position before asking bewilderedly, "What were you doing on the ground, mate?"

Tumnus looked all around the yard, but Aslan and his parents were nowhere to be seen. All was as it had been before. Tumnus didn't answer Romulus right away, but put a ginger hand to his forehead and drew in several slow breaths."Forgive me," he told his companions, at length. "I…I must have lost it for a second."

"Are you all right?" Oreius repeated, for the third time within the past five minutes.

"Yes," Tumnus said, "I'm all right. A little dizzy…but all right."

Mr. Rabbit's ears flopped down in relief. "Oh, thank Aslan," he sighed.

"Don't you scare us like that, boy," Beaver said faintly, clutching at his heart with one paw.

"We feared something terrible had happened to you," Romulus added.

"Can you stand up, Mr. Tumnus?" Edmund questioned.

"I believe so," the faun acceded. "But I may need some assistance getting up."

So, Romulus and Edmund each grabbed hold of an arm, and they worked together to hoist Tumnus to his hooves. Tumnus's legs buckled and shook rather badly once they released him and stepped back (but remaining close enough to catch him should he take a sudden spill), yet he managed to keep his balance. When asked just what it was that caused him to suddenly black out like that, Tumnus explained, in the shortest, simplest explanation possible, of the vision he'd had just then concerning his parents and Aslan.

He didn't expect his companions to believe him in the least, but one look at their faces when he was through proved they did believe him, every last one of them.

Out of the whole lot, Oreius seemed the most overwhelmed by Tumnus's account, and the most elated.

In the meantime, Tumnus felt an immeasurable wave of peace and satisfaction wash through him, like a wave from the sea: soothing him, strengthening him, and encouraging him. He had suffered much in his past—Aslan had certainly been accurate about that much—but Tumnus could see a great deal of good beginning right now.

Aslan was right; there was no sense in dwelling and persecuting himself over what was past.

He was here now, and he was going to make the most of it. He was going to live in a way that would make Aslan proud of him, that would make both his parents proud of him.

Tumnus knew it wasn't going to be an easy journey. It would be long and laborious, scattered with seeds of suffering. Yet the faun knew that with the storms of hardship came forth the beautiful gardens of growth and life. Beyond that, he knew that the ones whom he loved, and who loved him in exchange—Oreius, Romulus, Lucy, Edmund, the Beavers, and Aslan, of course, above all the rest—would always be there for him, to stand by him and help him go on whenever his strength and courage failed him, to help him reach his journey's end.

Until that blessed day came when he would be reunited with his beloved parents, and live forever in Aslan's glory, it was up to him to spin the straw of his life into gold.

And the faun pledged to himself on the spot that he would begin right here, right now.