Foreword
Dreams Within Dreams
Come closer and, if you like, I will tell you the most curious story I have ever heard.
Like all good stories, this one must begin with the facts that are certain: all in Narnia know the story of the defeat of the White Witch. Every child has listened, spell-bound, to the tale of Aslan's battle against the horde of darkness. And everyone knows of the Kings and Queens of Narnia; the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve who saved Narnia by Aslan's side and ruled justly through the Golden Age.
But now we must continue with the facts that are not.
What no one in Narnia knew is what happened on the day the Pevensies disappeared. For month after month, search parties ranged across Narnia and its neighbors, searching first in good faith and then, slowly, losing hope.
We know, of course. We have been privileged, we have been told. We know how the four stumbled upon the lamp-post, and how they felt the draw of a dream within a dream. We know they pushed through branches and then coats, until, with a stagger, they fell out of the wardrobe. "Spare Oom," Lucy had murmured. And there they remained, until further adventures in Narnia.
But none of Narnia's citizens possessed this knowledge. Nor did many of them ever see the children (at least not for a long, long time—but that is a different story) for, as we have been told, they traveled in a different time and a different Narnia altogether. That is not to say that creatures of Narnia forgot them, or that the Pevensies forgot any part of their kingdom—for they remembered too well, painfully at first and then vaguely as years passed until there was one who did not remember at all.
But there were some who longed for the Golden Age strongly still. In Narnia still there was one, a yearning, faithful soul, who returned to the lamp-post most every day, clutching a white handkerchief in large hands, mind blank except for one thought. And there was one Pevensie who spent the nights, in that first year, pushing fruitlessly against the back of the wardrobe in that far-away land of Spare Oom, tears matting her hair.
To this day, there is a legend in Narnia far greater a tale than any yet: greater than the Hundred Years' Winter and the reign of the Witch; greater than that famous battle and more wondrous even than the Pevensies' fulfillment of the prophecy. I firmly believe this is the truth. And, as a lover of stories (and really, who isn't?), I cherish this one most of all. Perhaps this is Narnia's most beloved tale. Or perhaps it isn't.
Who can say for certain?
The obvious answer is Aslan. They say that Aslan knows all that occurs, in Narnia and beyond. I believe in Aslan and I have faith in his power; all faithful of Narnia, those that knew the Golden Age, believe. Every land has its stories, and I have found that every place, great or small, forever has a pair of doomed lovers, too different in age or wealth or circumstance.
Our lovers were too different in worldly ways.
One a girl, one not-quite-a-man. And while one dwelt alone, deep in a Narnian cave, the other lived in the mysterious realm of Spare Oom with no certain way to return to Narnia again. But they also say that Aslan has seen everything that will be and also everything that might. He once told the youngest Queen that no one can know what might have been.
Thus it was that Aslan sent the answer to the faithful Mr. Tumnus, should he choose to follow it. And here the real story starts. You must decide for yourself what parts are facts, and which bits are not quite. You must use your own faith and judgment. But that, in my opinion, always makes it more interesting.
So, my dear one, how about you come and have a cup of tea with me? I'll tell you the greatest story I know.