A/N: Well, here it is: the last chapter. Yes, there will be a short epilogue, but this is where the action ends. Also: I changed the foreword, which was never properly beta-ed, so I suggest that before reading this part you return to the foreword and skim it again (I don't think the epilogue will make sense otherwise). Also, as a present to my beta, there is a Peter/Edmund reference. Enjoy! I hope you guys have loved this as much as I have.

VIII

For Narnia

Lucy hardly dared to believe it.

"Aslan?" she asked, and his shape flowed, solidified. It was too surreal. There in the yard stood a magnificent lion. She dropped her hand from Tumnus' and flung herself at Aslan, hugging his strong neck. He chuckled.

"Well, my dear one," he said gently, when she had released him. "Let me look at you." She stood shyly before him. "You are a beautiful woman now. Are your brothers well?"

"Yes," she said. "Aslan, this is impossible! —why have you come?"

"Surely you know." Aslan's golden eyes strayed to the figure behind her. Lucy followed his sight.

Tumnus did not move. She looked for a long moment at him, and horror swept over her. He was frozen as well, his eyes like glass. It brought back the terrible memory of him turned to stone in the Witch's palace, and she shuddered violently.

"Don't worry about the faun," Aslan soothed her. "This is all temporary."

She reached up and felt her hair, now loose again, and she took in the butterfly suspended in mid-air. "Is time stopped?" she asked slowly.

"Yes," he said. "You have always been a clever girl. Can you imagine why?"

"The Stag," she mused. "The answer to my deepest need."

"Wise, valiant Lucy," he smiled. "You are indeed true to your name." Lucy flushed, pleased, though the sadness in her heart was wrenching. She felt cloudy and distracted, unable to grasp her questions. Aslan smiled kindly at her earnestness. "We have time to spare. Catch your thoughts." She smiled, embarrassed. She was having a hard time thinking on her feet.

"Aslan," she whimpered finally, voice thin and strained (it distressed Aslan slightly to hear it), "why must Tumnus die? Why do you take him from me?"

"This world is not meant for anyone truly pure and worthy," Aslan said seriously. "There are greater plans for you and Tumnus, and your brothers; greater than you can imagine. Not everything can be laid out so clearly, in plain view. Often the best things we must wait for. But this world—it does no good for the best of hearts. Do not be surprised when you, too, and your brothers, leave it forever."

"What about Susan?"

"We shall see when the time comes," Aslan said grimly, and Lucy knew in her heart Susan was gone. She fell silent. "I know you are in pain, Lucy. This is quite a load for anyone to bear." She turned her face from Aslan and looked again to Tumnus. Her heart crumpled with fear.

"I can't live without him," she said faintly. Aslan watched her, eyes mild.

"You won't have to," he assured her. "Just for a little while. What would you do, to save his life?"

"Anything," she answered honestly.

"Then you must be brave, dear one," he told her. Susan's words rang in her head like the pealing of church bells. "You must be brave and patient. The day will come when everything good will take its place—the two of you included. I know it will pierce like a dagger, but that day will come and sooner than you realize."

"I don't know if I can do it," she whispered. All strength had left her voice. Her legs trembled.

"You can. You are a strong woman, Lucy, and I am proud of you. We are all proud of you—your brothers, and your dear Mr. Tumnus. Do you remember when the Hundred Years' Winter finally ended, and spring came to Narnia?"

"Yes," she said.

"Do you recall how that came about?" Lucy was silent, struggling to remember.

"By hope," he smiled again at her. It cheered her some. "The hope you brought to Narnia and the faith with which you did so. And it was all, really, for Tumnus—on your part—wasn't it?"

"Yes," she admitted, and she realized it was true. All that time, she had been fighting for him. For Narnia, of course, but for the Narnia he had shown her—for the Narnia he would share with her, for always, had he been given the chance. Her insides twisted painfully. She thought she might be sick, at Aslan's large paws. He watched her, sympathetic. He waited for her nausea to pass. Knowing he stood near, a small comfort trickled through her, like water as ice begins to melt. Aslan spoke again.

"I will tell you this plainly—Tumnus will die. He is dying already. He has to return to Narnia. Can you trust in me enough to give him up until your spring comes again?"

"I'll try," she said to Aslan. He smiled gently.

"That's my good girl," he praised her. "I know you'll hurt. But in the end, you'll be together again. And, have no fear, he will remember you. Now, there is little time to lose. Time will start again; your brothers, Prince Caspian, and the good Lord Digory will come rushing down here." Lucy could not think who Lord Digory was. "And in that confusion you will have only a moment to wish your dear Tumnus goodbye."

Lucy could not speak.

"Do you trust me, Lucy Pevensie?"

"Yes," she sighed. "I must."

"Let us stand for a moment and enjoy this beautiful world," said Aslan, and he and Lucy looked up at the blazing sun in the bowl of blue sky. Truly it was, Lucy realized with a shock. It was beautiful more because of the love she knew. It would not be the same, without Tumnus. But she had her family, and she had her faith. Nothing is more valuable than those, in the company of true love. She held firm in her heart everything dear—Peter's patient smile, Susan's face when he laughed without worrying how he looked, Edmund's enthusiasm for sweets (he often smuggled some in for them to share, late at night after the house was asleep), and the sound of a flute coming from far away (or, perhaps, from deep inside her memory). How about you come and have a cup of tea with me? "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said—to Aslan and to tea. Mostly, her heart conceded, to tea. Lucy dimly noticed that her mouth was dry. Aslan regarded the trees, the grass, the wind, the sky. And they waited for something Lucy was not sure could ever really happen.

The world rippled. Something had changed, yet nothing was different; something had gone but everything remained. Many things happened at once. Tumnus gasped as dead air punched out of his lungs, and bowed to Aslan, wide-eyed; the men came stumbling, running, out of the house. Across the grass, in long leaps, Peter and Edmund came to Aslan. The Professor moved slowly, hand on his lower back. Caspian came behind, his face awash with the awe all feel towards Aslan.

"My Lord," Peter murmured, bowing. Aslan raised his paw, indicating he should rise.

"I have things to say to each one of you. I would have you all stand where I may look at you." And so, the Pevensies and Tumnus, Caspian and the Professor, lined up before Aslan as though in a spelling bee. Peter felt very young. Aslan regarded them solemnly.

"Prince Caspian," he addressed the young man sternly, "you have much to learn about ruling a kingdom. You are young, though. There is hope for you yet." Seeing it was a joke, Caspian smiled warily. Aslan's mouth curled as he continued. "Yet you showed a great bravery, attacking the High King. Foolish, yes, but brave. And you are learning patience, and the value of great love. You shall be a fine king, I have no doubts." Caspian was left flushing with pride and with a new sense of humility. It would suit him well, and for all of his rule, his people would call him the most patient king Narnia had ever known.

"My dear Lord Digory," Aslan addressed the Professor, and the others watched in shock as the great lion dipped his proud head in respect. "You have done well, so well. You brought these children to Narnia."

"It was more of an accident," the Professor admitted. Aslan shook his head, thick mane ruffling.

"There are no accidents. You and I know that well. You need not fear what shall become of Narnia after you pass. You will be there to see it born, in a way we always dreamt."

None knew exactly (yet) what Aslan meant, but the Professor's face was shining so they had no need to question. Aslan turned his golden eyes on Edmund.

"King Edmund, the Just," he said with a sigh and a genuine smile. "I do believe I could not be any more proud of you. You are a good, solid, capable man. I know the happenings of this world and others—yes, all of them," he added with a smirk. "And you have shown compassion and fortitude I did not dare expect from anyone. You have surprised even me. I commend you for it. No one could ask for a better brother." Edmund's chin lifted and his shoulders squared, his freckled face flushed with pride.

He simply looked at Lucy. "To you, I have said everything, my Queen." Lucy's heart lifted, and somehow she knew everything would be all right.

And at long last, Aslan's eyes fell to Peter. Peter stood, stiff and worried, blue eyes squinted against the sun.

"I did well in making you a knight," Aslan observed. "None other than a knight could protect those he loves so completely, with no thought to his own heart. Peter, you are a man now. I need not embellish more, for you are a great man—you are the High King. I do not believe anything is clearer than that." Peter dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Aslan laid a heavy paw on his shoulder. "You have done well, my son."

Tumnus stood awkwardly in his human clothes. Aslan looked gently on him.

"Ah, Mr. Tumnus: a Son of Adam now, I see."

He could not speak, directly addressed by Aslan. He swallowed and made a faint noise.

"Still shy and humble, I see, Tumnus. Uncommon virtues in a faun. But you needn't feel inferior to me, nor anyone. You are the most sincere creature—man, faun, otherwise—I have yet met. It is a rare thing, to meet someone with a truly good heart. And I am privileged enough to stand so many. You must not feel ashamed, Tumnus. I would have done exactly the same thing, had I been you and had I such a beautiful, bright young woman was waiting for me." Lucy blushed. "And your transformation confuses you. And yes, as we stand here, you die. It is curious even to me. But you must remember one thing: you are not a faun. You are not a Son of Adam. Nothing so simple as that—nothing so complicated. You are a Son of Narnia and as such you are everything and you are always welcomed and always loved, no matter where you go or what you are. Do you understand?" Tumnus looked nervously to the other faces watching him. The Pevensies said naught a word. They didn't have to. Tumnus felt their love crowding about him, squeezing him tightly, and he did not fear any more. "You must find the faith inside of yourself," Aslan continued. "You found it once, to go through the Wardrobe to find Lucy once more. You faced an angry man with a cricket bat," (here Peter blushed) "you coped with a new body; you fell through time and space. What is that if not faith, faith and courage?"

"Love," Tumnus said then. He never imagined he could be so bold. "It was love. Not just for Lucy but for—but for everyone. For everyone dear I have met here in Spare Oom."

"All one can do," Aslan finished with a smile, "is bless the lamp-post that led you together." Then, with suddenly grim eyes, Aslan turned on Tumnus and the young Prince.

"We will return to Narnia," he addressed them.

"Oh!" cried Tumnus. "But—but Lucy…"

"Have no doubt, only love," Aslan advised. "Believe me: you will see her again." Under their feet, the grass shivered, each blade quivering. Aslan nodded to Lucy. She knew the time was at hand. She was startled as something, feather-light and the color of ash, coated her hands. A thin—dust? Powder?—covered her skin, filled her eyes and ears and mouth, clung to her hair. Her mouth tasted metallic, like blood. Peter stood firmly, sensing something must change now. He didn't know what to make of it at first. He felt Edmund tremble a little and he looked to his brother. Magic (for that was truly what the powder was: a physical expression of the old magic rolling off Aslan and out from Narnia) fell and settled, a fine, bitter film in Edmund's dark hair. Suddenly, Peter did not see the strong, self-assured twenty-year-old he loved so dearly. Instead, beside him stood the confused, tousle-headed twelve-year-old who had first led him into Narnia. He looked up at Peter, wide, dark eyes asking him to save them.

"What now, Peter?" came the small voice he expected and could never forget.

"Never mind," Peter said thickly, his mouth coated with the tangy stuff (such thick magic!), and he protectively wrapped an arm about Edmund's shoulders and pulled his brother close to him. "Whatever comes, we have each other. We will always have each other and we'll always have Narnia." Two boys stood now on the hill: a blonde, no more than fifteen, and the smaller with black hair. Aslan looked fully at them. Kings of Narnia, always.

"I would be afraid," Edmund said, "but it's strange. I can't quite remember what it feels like."

"That's magic," Peter told him confidently. "That's the sureness of old magic."

"I'm glad you're my brother, Peter." The young Edmund sighed. Peter squeezed him tightly, his throat burning. You saved me, his heart said silently. You saved me. And Peter felt that, somehow, Edmund knew even that.

"Me, too," he told Edmund, and he meant it with all his heart. Peter stooped and, clumsily, unsure of what else would say what he meant, kissed Edmund on his mouth. Edmund leaned into Peter's lips.

Feeling panic settle deep in her stomach, "Remember me," Lucy said, turning to Tumnus. The world began to hurry around them.

It was a moment none would forget. Lucy, beautiful as the sun, long red-golden hair flying, as she looked up into the face of a man who was dying for her. Blue eyes into green. It seemed as though that heavy ash of magic clung only to them. And in that moment, all knew in the greatness of love over all other miracles. It was a snapshot Peter carried in his heart, for faith in his darkest moments. The ground heaved below them.

"No time," Aslan said gently, and Tumnus bent to kiss his Lucy—a proper kiss—forever knowing she was his and he hers. He cupped her cheek. Of course people belong to other people. Peter knew now. He felt suddenly heavy. Beside him, Edmund was twenty again but still their arms remained about each other. Could he bear to let go? Would he, if he could? No, came a gentle voice on the wind. Peter looked up, but whatever shade that had replied was gone. We—all of us—belong to each other.

"You must remember me!" Lucy wailed, green eyes welling with love and tears.

"You must not cry," he told her, and he handed to her the white handkerchief which started it all. "My dear Lucy—there will never come a day that I do not love you." He flickered.

"I love you!" she shouted, suddenly, finally, as he blurred in the bright sunlight. "I love you, Mr. Tumnus!"

"I love you, Lucy Pevensie." The world ignited in flames from the sun, it seemed (it was only the magic, catching the light just so). The Pevensies and the good Professor were obliged to turn their heads, for brighter than anything was the light the magic threw off. And with a flash and a sudden silence, Lucy looked up. Prince Caspian, and the great Aslan, and Tumnus were gone.

Peter put his other arm around Lucy.

"Let us have faith," he said to her.

"Won't Susan be jealous when we tell her!" Edmund crowed.

The three siblings walked back to the house. The Professor followed beside them. None spoke. And as they mounted the steps to the Professor's back door, Peter's memory swept back to the first doorway that mattered, the threshold of the Wardrobe. In his mind's eye, he pushed through coats. With those first Pevensie steps on snow—well, that was the world's death. That was their true birth. And Narnia called, even now. Deep in the Wardrobe, Narnia sang to them. Even to the day of their deaths, it rang so loudly in the Pevensies' ears that, sometimes, they could barely think. In an instant, Peter remembered everything that had happened to the four of them—the Pevensies, the true rulers of Narnia. He saw it all, as if playing on a screen with the sound off. For Narnia, anything, he thought with a wan smile, and opened the final door. For them, everything.

Lucy's mind was not on the house before her, or on the golden-green yard, nor even on her two dear brothers. Her green eyes sought out the sun.

"Don't cry," Peter told her, holding the door open, calling her in.

"I'm not," she said. "I am only waiting."