Tumbling Down

Chapter Four

The Weight of us Both

The next day, Lucy did not leave her rooms until tea-time; she avoided the throne room or anywhere else she suspected her siblings to be. She put on a plain brown dress and pinned up her long braid. Making sure none occupied the hallway, she slipped down to Tumnus' rooms rather unnoticed (she suspected the servants were going out of their way to give her space). She arrived quicker than usual.

She opened the door with a creak and stepped in, closing it rather hard behind her. Tumnus clattered loudly in the kitchen; she heard him singing under his breath and a teakettle whistle. Despite her mood, she smiled broadly. At least there was one place she still was safe.

Tumnus stopped, hearing the door slam. He poked his head from around the corner.

"Lucy?" he called.

"Yes," her voice called back. He smiled, ran his hands through his thick hair, and set the kettle on a silver tray, next to two cups on saucers and sardines on toast. He entered the main room where Lucy sat on a high-backed chair before the hearth. Something was wrong, he could sense it immediately. Though her smile was wide, her face was pinched and drawn. Something had happened, and he didn't know what. He frowned, looking at her. "I almost expected to see you in an apron."

"What happened?" he dismissed her attempt at a joke.

"Nothing's happened." She did not look at him; her blue eyes focused on the wall behind him. "Sardines, excellent."

"Lucy." He sat down across from her and took her hands, leaning forward, arms stretched over the tray. "Something's happened."

"Nothing important." She pulled her hands free from his. "Can't we just have a nice tea?"

He looked pained. "It'll make you feel better to talk about it. I never thought you'd keep something from me."

"Am I not allowed to have my secrets?" Her voice was high and he looked at her in a panic. "Am I to always be treated as a child? Does everyone know what's best for me?" She looked desperate and near-tears. Tumnus had only seen her cry once (the day he woke up, flesh and blood again, her face was wet as she caught him) and the look on her face disturbed him. "I'm not incompetent! I can govern my own life, if nothing else, can't I?"

"Lucy!" he said, voice rising at her distress as it passed into him. "Please, tell me what the matter is!"

"No," she said, her voice hitching. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"I thought you were my friend," he said softly, sitting back. She realized how hurt he was, his brown eyes unguarded and sorrowful. "I want to help, if I can. Even if just to add my sympathies and support."

"There's nothing you can do, Mr. Tumnus," she said finally, fighting down a sob. "It's just been a very long night. Let's have tea, yes? Tea." She picked up the china teapot, pouring it with shaking hands. Tea splashed out of the cup, soaking the tray and splattering onto the toast. "Oh, damn. I'm so sorry—let me fetch a towel—" She rose, distracted, but stopped in confusion when Tumnus reached out and grabbed her wrist none too gently.

"Lucy," he said in a low voice, and her face crumpled, earth crumbling apart. She sucked in a noisy breath bravely, trying not to cry before him, but when he pulled her down onto his lap, she broke down before him, throwing her arms about his neck and burying her face in his chest. He held her gently, as he would a child, patting her back as she wept. He felt like crying himself. He was unused to this strong young woman being incapable of dealing with a situation. Whatever it was, it was grim indeed. "Tell me what's wrong, please. It bleeds my heart dry to see you in such agony."

"I am getting married," she gasped against his skin, and at first he did not understand. "I am getting married." Her hands tangled in the fur over the ridge of his spine. "I am getting married." Horror struck him, all at once, and his lungs stopped working. He coughed, suddenly, violently. She did not notice.

"Yes?" he managed, his mind dimly wrapping around the concept. "To whom?"

"Some dreadful Prince—all for peace! All for Narnia!" Her voice was a howl, keen and sharp, and he cradled her in comfort and with the instinct to hush her, to protect her privacy in this naked state. "I don't know him—I certainly don't love him. Oh, it's all wrong, Mr. Tumnus, it's all so—so…" she lost strength to speak as a sob wracked her body, her limbs trembling as she held onto him for dear life. "I don't want to get married to him. I don't want to have anything to do with him! It isn't fair! Susan's the beautiful one, and she's far older and wiser! I don't want to marry him!"

"Shh, shh," was all Tumnus could say as his heart broke. "You mustn't be so hopeless. Surely you can refuse?"

"I've already said yes," Lucy wailed, finally looking Tumnus in the face. Her eyes were swollen and her eyelashes clumped together with tears, her face very red. Her hair was tangled and he realized she did not wear her crown. Her makeup must have been from the night before, so smeared and rubbed out it was. He had never seen her so lost. Not in ten years, or more. It made him fear for the future of Narnia, to see her so. "Oh, I'm so foolish, Mr. Tumnus."

"You're not foolish at all, my Queen," Tumnus replied earnestly, reaching to the knot of his scarf and grabbing the handkerchief she had given him. He always kept it with him, as a token of her, and he was thankful to have it now. He mopped her face gently, pushed back her loose hair. He adjusted a hairpin bent askew. "You're anything but. And you are far lovelier and wiser than your sister, in my opinion."

"I hold your opinion very highly," she said, trying to smile. He laughed, and it seemed to relieve some of her grief.

"You ought to, in this case," Tumnus assured her he told the truth. "You are a great Queen, and you must have felt that this was the best choice. Though I do think it's dreadful they're not giving you any other," he added darkly. "I assume this is the treaty they made with Archenland." Lucy nodded. "Sometimes I question the wisdom of Aslan."

"You mustn't say that!" Lucy looked shocked.

"Well, I do," Tumnus said heavily, wiping her eyes with the pad of his thumb. Her eyelids drooped briefly and he recognized she was exhausted. "He hasn't the right, as you said. You should choose your own partner. Marriage is forever, and forever—well; it's an awfully long time."

"I have to marry him," she said softly, as he continued to stroke her hair. She took her arms from around his neck, and he felt lost, but she remained close to him. "I must do what is in the best interest of Narnia."

"You are Narnia, as far as I'm concerned. You must do what is best for you."

"When I rule so many," Lucy shook her head, "I cannot afford to be selfish. If it were you, what would you do?"

"I suppose I'd be selfish," he said thoughtfully. "But then again, I am not you. You are a gift, Lucy. You are a rare bird and it's cruel to confine you so."

She rested her cheek against his chest again. "I don't want to go back there, to where they are all. They all expect so much of me."

"That is because they know you are the heart of this place," Tumnus told her, meaning every word. "More than Peter, more than Susan or Edmund—more even than Aslan. You are Narnia, Lucy. You are a dream and a reality, and you are a promise. You are this place. Not the other way around."

"I knew you'd be on my side," she murmured, slipping into sleep. He was relieved she ceased to cry.

"I will always be on your side," he promised. "Always. You can rely on that, if nothing else."

"Thank you," she sighed, and she fell asleep cradled in his arms. He rested his chin on the top of her fair hair, head reeling. He burned with anger and sorrow. He hummed the tune of the Narnian lullaby that she loved best, unable to think of what else he might do. He could not leave her now.

"Ah, my love," he crooned mournfully, rough hands stroking her hair. "What will become of us? From now on, and this instant as well?" She breathed, shallow and even, in the circle of his protective arms. "Not that there really is an "us". There's just you and I. Oh, Lucy. You shouldn't have to be a queen if this is what it ends up meaning."

He stood, after a long time with her pillowed against him, and brought her to his bed. He drew the curtains to keep out the sun; he tucked his quilt around her, left a candle on the bedside. He sat for a long moment, head full of her, and then stood suddenly, his stomach pitching angrily. He staggered from the room, hooves sharp on the stone floor, and barely made it to the basin of his sink before he vomited, painfully. The retching shook his frame and tore at his throat, as he was sick from all the injustice of the situation. He gasped for breath and, when his emotions had settled, emptied the basin and drew a long drink of water for himself. He sat shakily down in the chair by the fire.

"What will become of us?" he asked again, but the fire did not respond.

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