A/N: Hope you are all enjoying my story, although I know many of you are surprised and dismayed with the direction it's taking. Have no fear—this is a chapter of resolutions :) Also, a comment on my snooty Caspian: I never liked him in the books, I always thought he seemed fake and underneath his thin exterior lurked a huge snob. So, that is my characterization (it's not exactly the best one, but I enjoy it). Also, I'm not meaning to imply any other pairing in this chapter, although one may or may not manifest itself depending on how you interpret it (I won't say who, as to not spoil anything). Lastly, thank you all so much for your reviews—critiques and compliments equally valuable!—and I hope you continue to read and love this as much as I love writing it for you. Enjoy!

V

Unraveling

Tumnus felt as though he were floating (he imagined at least that this, surely, must be what floating feels like) as the six made their way to the Professor's lit windows. His hand clasped Lucy's tightly and their knees brushed as they walked, slowly, her cold shoulder against his arm. The brothers Pevensie walked before them; shortly behind, the tall blonde Prince and the small cousin. Tumnus barely registered any of it; his head was bent to Lucy's hair. He could not speak. He could hardly draw breath. It seemed a hundred years since he had seen Lucy (and, he reasoned, perhaps it has been, with this queer time).

Lucy, for her part, was just as pleased, although slightly more preoccupied. Tumnus had startled her, and she did not handle surprises as gracefully as she once had. These human fingers twined with hers—she didn't know how to feel about it. Could it really be Tumnus? She felt uneasy. Could he look so different and be the same Faun she loved?

"Are you tired, my dear?" he asked her. For no real reason, he felt foolish. He sensed her unease and quietly loosened his hand in hers. I ought to let go completely, he said to himself, and then didn't. "You're awfully quiet."

"No, I'm not tired now," she said quickly. "Well, I mean, I was—in Narnia, I was exhausted. But I'm not here. I'm not sure if I can close my eyes, even if only for a moment."

"I am wide awake," Tumnus reassured her that it was all right. She laced their fingers tightly again. Tumnus heaved a sigh of relief. "I was afraid you would not know me," he said in a low voice.

"I would know you in any world," she soothed him. "Although I do admit you surprised me a deal." They mounted the steps to the house. "I may not be tired, but I am chilled through."

"Have a bath," Tumnus urged. "I did just earlier. It's a lovely bath." Lucy laughed and Tumnus did not care how foolish he seemed; she laughed and it was just for him. He tucked it into his heart where all his greatest treasures were. Memories, you see, last longer than green eyes ever do.

"Warm water will do you good," Peter said, appearing at Lucy's elbow. "And dry clothes." Lucy looked from Tumnus to her brother and back again, her face torn. Peter laughed aloud. "He's not going anywhere, Lu, I promise. We wouldn't show you him only to take him away again."

"I'll be here," Tumnus agreed, and squeezing her hand once, he released her to her brother.

"Come," Edmund said genially, putting his hand on Tumnus' arm. "Let's fix some tea and talk to the Professor. We'll be in the den," he said, to Peter. Peter nodded and steered Lucy to the bathroom.

"Peter," she said, her eyes finally torn from Tumnus' retreating back. "Can you explain any of this?"

"Wouldn't you rather Tumnus did?"

"I want to know now," she demanded in a soft voice, and as Peter fetched her a clean dress and towels, he explained the remarkable events. Lucy listened, her arms full of towels, eyes on Peter. "That is…quite a story," she said finally, green eyes round.

"Yes," Peter agreed. There was a long silence. "Lu," he said finally.

"Hm?"

"What now?" A frown crossed Lucy's forehead.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, now what? Between you and Tumnus? Are you—well?" Peter blushed, fussing with shampoo near the tub's lip. Lucy grinned.

"Are you asking about my love life, dear brother?"

"You never struck me as old enough to have one," he said grimly, "but I suppose if you must, then yes, I am."

"I don't figure it's much of your business." Peter looked at her very seriously.

"Lucy, listen to me now," he said earnestly, and his tone worried her. "Are you listening?"

"Yes," she said, uncertainly. Something in his face distressed her. Peter looked—for the first time Lucy could remember—helpless.

"You must be positive, when you make this choice." Peter's blue eyes were round with worry. "You must be surer than anything."

"Why?" She looked confused. "Why must I make any decision?"

"Lu," Peter's voice was incredulous. "You can't be serious. Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't what obvious?" Lucy said, exasperated. "What am I missing here?"

"Lucy, Tumnus is in love with you." Peter's blue eyes were deeper than any ocean.

"We're only dear friends," she said finally.

"But—" Lucy took the towels and placed them by the tub. Hanging the dress on a hook, she turned back to Peter, her eyes colder than he'd ever seen them.

"But nothing, Peter. I am nearly eighteen years old. You can't always decide what is best for me." She twisted up her hair and pinned it. "Some things I must figure out on my own. In this case, Mr. Tumnus and I must work them out. You can't always have things worked out nicely and quickly, Peter. I don't think it will work like that."

"But if he loves you and you love him, what is there to work out?"

"I don't know if I love him," she snapped. "He is not…he's not the Mr. Tumnus I have dreamt about."

"He's a man!" Peter cried; Lucy hushed him.

"Yes," she agreed. "And I did not fall in love with a man, and oh, Peter, it's been such a long time…" her face was woebegone. Peter sighed and pulled her to him, kissing her deep red hair.

"Bath first," he told her. "Life-changing decisions later." She laughed weakly and shut the door. Peter leaned against it and sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. "Why can't anything be easy?" he asked the mirror across from him. I'm here for you. It winked innocently in the electric lights. "Some help you are." With that, he left Lucy in peace and returned to the men, scrubbing his eyes hard.

Tumnus was pacing. His feet padded softly on the carpet before the hearth; Edmund and Caspian followed him with their eyes. His movement made them nervous (Eustace, exhausted and sensing this was not his business, had retired to bed in Edmund's room).

"Tumnus," Edmund said in a low voice. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," he said distractedly. He had changed to dry clothes, as they all had.

"You're driving me up the wall," Caspian growled. Edmund shot him a look.

"Calm down, mate," Edmund said gently. "Here, sit. Have a cup of tea."

"I don't want any bloody tea," Tumnus growled. Edmund blinked in surprise. Caspian arched a narrow eyebrow at the young man.

"Come, take a walk with me," Edmund said, standing. Tumnus followed him out of the room, passing the Professor in the hall as he hurried to talk with Caspian. Edmund led Tumnus to the empty kitchen. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the empty table. Tumnus shook his head. "Now, what's eating at you?"

"Lucy," it was nearly a wail. "Did you see how she looked at me?"

"With her eyes?" Edmund guessed. Tumnus frowned.

"Like she was…disappointed with what she saw."

"She's just surprised. She's so happy to find you, are you kidding? You're all she ever spoke about." Edmund looked at Tumnus warily. Of course, he reasoned, Tumnus must get angry like any man; he had never seen the faun—human?—upset more than fear. This was worse than plain fear; this was rage and self-loathing, this was hatred. The door creaked.

"Hullo," Peter said. "What's going on? Caspian said you two went this way."

"Someone's upset," Edmund murmured, but Tumnus turned on him, flaring up.

"Don't you judge me, Edmund Pevensie! Don't you dare judge me!" his voice was shrill, and in the bathtub, Lucy perked up, curious. "You have no idea how it feels to want something so badly that can never happen!

"Yes, I do," Peter interjected quietly. Edmund looked sideways at his older brother but Tumnus raved on, oblivious.

"You don't know what it's like to lose all hope and suddenly find your one desire granted, only the reason you wanted in the first place has vanished! I wish—I wish I'd never left Narnia," he choked bitterly. "This world is no good for me." Edmund glanced at Peter, helplessly. Peter quelled him with a look. "All I ever wanted was to be a Son of Adam! For her! I wanted to be something she could love, not some filthy forest-dweller. How could a faun be good enough, ever, for any girl—let alone a queen! What does one do, when no more than a foot from you is the center of your world? And she doesn't even know you're alive! What does one do?"

You tell me, Peter begged silently.

"And so, desperately, I prayed each night to Aslan to make me something more than just a faun to her. And I waited for her to grow old enough to understand. I loved your sister," he spoke with venom, "from the moment I saw her. And now that I can have her as is intended, she won't look at me as she used to! That she had stayed a child," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears. "That she had stayed a child with all the affection in Narnia for me! Affection without romantic love: even that is something. That is more than I ever dreamed to have!" He looked about piteously and he made his escape, quick as he could, banging up the stairs to the attic, where the wardrobe stood, serenely unaware of the turmoil it caused—or maybe?

"Peter," Edmund said, dazed. Peter shook his head.

"Go tend to the others," he said forcefully, and he lit up a candle, making after Tumnus. "I'll take care of him." Edmund left the kitchen.

Peter opened the door quietly. The wardrobe was ajar; on the floor lay Tumnus, shoulders heaving. Peter shut the door with a squeak, holding the candle aloft. The light from the moon outside and the flickering flame illuminated his silver back, his shirt rumpled.

"I can't get back in," he sobbed. Peter sat down on the floor next to him.

"Why are you feeling so hopeless?" he laid a hand gently on Tumnus' forearm. Tumnus jerked it away.

"How would you feel, if you were me?"

"Happy," Peter answered honestly. "Happy and full of hope. You have found her. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"No," Tumnus raised his wet face to Peter. In the queer light, his eyes were the same silver as the moon and his shirt. "I wanted to be hers. I wanted her to be mine."

"People don't belong to other people," Peter admonished gently. Tumnus looked shocked.

"Of course they do." Peter thought for a moment about that, then shook his head.

"It isn't if you've got hooves or feet that matter," he consoled him. "It's the love." Peter silenced his own heart.

"This is not who I am!" Tumnus' words came out sharply and sudden, like a goat's bleating. "I could be so much to her like this. I could be a real man—her man." His entire frame shook. Peter did not know what to say. He raised his arm to comfort Tumnus but it fell short and dropped uselessly to Peter's side, heavy and lifeless. "I'm not a man," Tumnus whispered. "I'm only playing at it."

"You look like a man to me," Peter said heartily.

"I'm not," Tumnus sat rocking, repeating it to himself. His strange silver eyes were leaking tears and his nose was red. The grandfather clock downstairs was chiming 1 a.m. but Peter ignored it. This might take all night.

"D'you think Lucy cares what you look like?" Peter tried to ignore the conversation he'd had with her in the bathroom. "You're her Tumnus." Peter finally got his arms about Tumnus' shuddering shoulders. "She can't help but love you."

"Why can't I get back to Narnia?" Tumnus looked forlornly at the wardrobe. "Why can't I get back home?"

"You're not meant to yet," Peter said. "You won't go back to Narnia until you're finished here."

"I wish I was finished," Tumnus said shortly. "I wish I'd never met your dear sister. If only I hadn't gone past the lamp-post that day!"

"But you did," Peter said firmly, "and nothing will change that. Nothing can change who you love—and who you don't."

"No matter what I do," Tumnus said, "I will never be good enough for Lucy."

"Oh, shut it." Peter reached out and squeezed Tumnus' thin shoulders. "She is Lucy and you are Tumnus and this has been in the making for ten years—a hundred or more, if we count all the time ever passed between the two of you. What are you worrying for?"

"I can't help to but," Tumnus sniffed loudly, finally allowing Peter to hold him. "I don't know why, but I can't help feeling like somehow this will crumble. After so much, even this will break." Peter savored the moment, this young man in his arms. He smoothed the wrinkles from Tumnus' worried brow and, bravely (he thought at least), kissed him upon his curly hair.

"You will know nothing unless you go back downstairs and see her," Peter told him. "She is waiting for you." Tumnus said nothing of the kiss. He felt, more than ever, like Peter's brother—like his equal. It was quite a new sense for Tumnus, and inside of himself he felt the faintness stirring of hope that somehow, maybe, everything would turn out all right.

"I am afraid," Tumnus admitted.

"Don't," Peter said shortly. "Some people would die for a situation like you and Lucy find yourselves in."

"Like who?"

"Like me," Peter said, and Tumnus said nothing. He didn't have to.

"Now, afraid!" Peter's voice was gruff, hiding his breaking heart. "A great man like you!" Peter scolded. "For shame. Now stop crying. We'll neaten you up," he said, wiping the tears from Tumnus' eyelashes, "and you'll be good as new. Things will get better. Yes?"

"Yes," Tumnus weakly smiled. He didn't know what to think—about Peter, about anything. All he wanted was Lucy.

"Good," Peter sighed. "There's nothing to fear just yet." Except the crumbling of my own heart, Peter cried in his head—but perhaps even that, too, would end up all right.

In the bathroom, Lucy had carefully brushed her long, ember-red hair, smoothing it until it shone like a mirror. She pulled on a lawn dress, white with tiny flowers, and worried her face in the vanity. She paused to rummage in Susan's makeup, rouging her lips and darkening her brown eyelashes. She fussed with her hair again and, finally, smoothing her skirt repeatedly, opened the bathroom door and headed to the den. She smelled tea brewing and a fire, and she picked up an awkward skip-walk-run, eager to get to the fire where Tumnus awaited her. She threw herself in. There was no Tumnus.

Lucy's face fell as Edmund turned to her. He almost laughed, thinking how horrifying the scene must be to Lucy. He took her hands and led her to the sofa.

"Tumnus is changing," he told Lucy. She felt better; her smile lifted again. She settled down after a warm hug to the Professor to wait for her Tumnus.

It was nearly two-thirty before Tumnus and Peter emerged from the attic. Tumnus was still rather fuzzy at the edges; under his eyes, dark circles bloomed like bruises. His hair was snarled and Peter rested his hand against the small of Tumnus' back. A creak on the stairs summoned Edmund, dark eyes distressed.

"There you are," he spoke in a low voice. "Lucy is fretting," and he proceeded the two back to the den. The fire burned merrily and in front of it Caspian and the Professor sat, on plump pillows on the floor. On a rickety red couch perched Lucy. The Pevensie boys seated themselves by Caspian, and the Prince began the tales of his most recent adventures with the two youngest royals. Tumnus hesitated and then sat quietly next to Lucy, careful not to touch her. She saw that in his fist was clenched an old white handkerchief. The hand closest to her lay limply on the cushion, and as Lucy watched Caspian's face in the flickering firelight, she reached out and covered Tumnus' hand with her own.

The sun rose.

Emptiness flared in Peter as he watched the quiet group around the fire. Edmund leaned heavily against his shoulder, breathing slowly in and out. It was a vague comfort. Edmund had always (although he hated to show it when they were younger) looked up to Peter. It made him feel—what? What exactly, Peter thought crossly, am I trying to accomplish with any of this? With Edmund, with Lucy, with Tumnus—with life? What is the whole point? Peter sighed, low. No one paid attention to him. Tumnus and Lucy—well. Forget them ever having attention for anyone else.

Am I jealous? Peter wondered, surprised at the thought. Is it possible I just want the attention of Lucy, or anyone? Edmund stirred at his side. Peter laid his cheek against his brother's dark head.

Edmund. Sweet, proud Ed. Peter felt anger well up. He had always been so cruel, so distrustful of this, his younger brother. It was his fault, the whole ordeal with the Witch. He knew that now, with more certainty than he knew his own name. It was Peter's fault, not Edmund's. Peter was supposed to take care of them all. He had failed, because in his own pigheaded fantasy he did imagine himself the big man, the leader. And when he really was—Peter laughed quietly. That was when he knew that love is most important of all. He wrapped a protective arm around Edmund's shoulders.

"You okay?" Edmund murmured. "You've been…"

"Yeah," Peter replied. "Just kind of…em. Well, you know."

"I know." And suddenly, Peter realized Edmund meant that.

"You do?" He looked curiously down at his brother. All others in the room had vanished for Peter. Edmund nodded, eyes still murky with sleep, but he watched Peter carefully.

Edmund knew that, underneath all his bravado, Peter was lonely. Susan and Peter had always been closest and now—Edmund frowned despite himself. Now Susan never had time for any of them. It hurt Lucy immensely (Lucy had always been the most sensitive, Edmund mused, the most in tune with the world and everything in it—which explained why she, of all the Pevensies, had discovered Narnia) but Peter felt it as a personal insult. Edmund understood. Susan was all grown up, twenty-two and beautiful, obsessed with traveling and with making a name for herself. To Susan, even more important than school now was worldly knowledge. In all the excitement of growing up, Susan had forgotten Narnia. Edmund was disappointed, but he saw where she was coming from. Sometimes he got the feeling Lucy didn't. He knew Peter didn't, and never would.

"You've been feeling very…left out, haven't you?" Edmund asked quietly. Peter didn't reply. It didn't surprise Edmund much. Peter was forgiving and could admit when he made mistakes, but he didn't like looking inward at what bothered him most. He's too busy fixing everyone else, Edmund thought, looking at Peter's distressed face and disheveled hair, to think about himself properly.

"Maybe I have," Peter said finally. Edmund patted Peter's knee. Edmund would have extended his arms, but he knew Peter would be embarrassed to cause a scene in the tranquil pre-dawn light.

"I'm here for you, Peter," Edmund said simply. Peter looked sharply at his brother. The words rung in his ears, in the back of his mind, deep in his chest. Edmund continued, choosing to say nothing. "You don't need someone else. Everything you need is right here, in our own little family. Let Lucy have him. He was never yours, or anyone else's, to have at all. He's barely even his own."

"I don't know what it is about him," Peter blurted.

"I know what you mean," Edmund said lowly, urging Peter to hush. "There has always been something about him that draws. D'you know what it is?"

"No."

"Narnia. It's just Narnia, Peter. You want Narnia, not him. It's the same reason you got that tattoo. But you're a part of Narnia, too. That same longing is in you. We all feel it."

"Not Susan."

"Susan's a good girl, Peter. She's just not…she doesn't feel the pull so much."

"And we do?"

"We do. You even more than any of us. More than Lucy, I reckon, even."

"Not more than Lucy."

"I think Lucy was pulled to Tumnus, more than just Narnia. But Peter, it's no surprise you feel so strongly about it. Think about it."

"Maybe I'm crazy."

"No," Edmund said so firmly it surprised Peter. "You're the High King. You are Narnia. But you're a Pevensie, too. You will always have Susan and Lucy and I."

Peter was quiet. Edmund thought he felt his knee shake slightly. And then Peter squeezed the arm he had wrapped around Edmund's shoulders. And Edmund knew Peter would be all right. Peter put his cheek back against Edmund's hair and the two faced Caspian. Peter's arm remained around Edmund.

"I love you, you know," Peter told his little brother.

"I know," Edmund said, and he did.

Light filled the room, and it revealed a very sleepy group. Edmund had fallen asleep again against his brother's shoulder. Tumnus sat in a daze and Lucy's eyes had lost focus. She stared blankly at the dying embers. Her fingers moved restlessly against Tumnus' palm. The Professor was in low conversation with Caspian. Only the bratty young Prince did not seem worn out.

Peter stretched and yawned. "I say we ought to turn in," he murmured. Edmund grunted in his sleep. Lucy jerked out of her reverie.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's." She rose and Tumnus stood with her, his eyes glazed with exhaustion. He swayed slightly, his feet failing him with sleep deprivation. Lucy looked concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he chuckled, though his voice seemed higher than usual. "Still not quite perfect with these legs."

"You are perfect to me," Lucy insisted, and Tumnus flushed. Peter watched the two, finding himself strangely able to smile for his sister.

"I think," he declared, "that Edmund and I will share a room, since Eustace is sleeping in Ed's." He waited for the pang of his heart, but none came. Startled, he grinned inwardly and continued. "Tumnus, why don't you stay in Lucy's room? On the couch," he added hastily. The Professor hid a smile. Edmund murmured consent.

"Are you certain?" Lucy asked her brother, who nodded. She turned to look up at Tumnus. "Is that alright with you?"
"I don't mind, if your brothers are fine with it," he said quietly. He looked woozy.

"Very well," she said. "Goodnight."

"Good morning," the Professor said with a wink.

The two staggered up the stairs, mostly asleep. Lucy opened the door to her room and let down the curtains, hiding the new sun. She shyly took a nightgown out of her wardrobe. Tumnus turned around, politely. She slipped out of her dress, pulling the thin nightgown over her camisole and panties. She shivered.

"Are you decent?"

"Yes," she laughed. He smiled too, uneasily. "Mr. Tumnus, are you sure you're okay with this arrangement?"

"I don't think I could be away from you right now," he told her.

"Do you have nightclothes?"

"Somewhere in Peter's room," he mumbled, and went to retrieve them. Lucy slid into bed, blowing out the candle on her bed stand. In a moment Tumnus returned, in green-striped pajamas, looking for all the world like a sleepy University boy.

"You are a remarkable creature," she said honestly, not thinking how it might sound.

Inside, part of Tumnus shattered. "Thank you," he muttered. "I wish you good dreams." He sat down on the thin sofa.

"Are you sure you don't want to share the bed?" she blurted. They both turned red. "It's—it's not as though we have any indecency planned." Lucy hoped her hormones could stay themselves for one night.

"Of course not," Tumnus lied through his teeth. And so, creeping slowly to her, he finally reached the bed and hopped onto it, sliding under the comforter. Lucy shivered as cold air hit her. "I'm sorry!" he cried, and he reached out and clasped his arms around her back, pulling her in. He froze with horror, Lucy cuddled against his chest. "Oh—I didn't mean—"

"Goodnight," Lucy said, snuggling close to him, her head pillowed on the crook between shoulder and chest. And Tumnus slowly smiled, enjoying the fullness of the moment before sleep claimed them both.

Neither dreamed. Neither had cause to.

And, curled against Edmund's back in his brother's small bed, Peter dreamed only of a shining set of four thrones, deep forests, and the laugher of two girls and a boy dearer to his heart than all the world.