Author's Note: Hope you're all enjoying this story so far. This chapter also has a love scene in it; however, it's much more toned down than chapter 6 and therefore I think it's appropriate for FFN rules. Think of it as a PG-13 love scene, and not an R :D

Enjoy! This story is almost complete.

Tumbling Down

Chapter Eight

Until It Consumes Us

Tumnus couldn't sleep. Sick to his stomach, he rolled from side to side in his bed (it seemed unusually stiff and uncomfortable), his head reeling. The image of Lucy, ghostly in the darkness, was burned behind his eyelids. He groaned, covering his face with his pillow.

"Damn it," he muttered to the empty room. He heaved himself out of bed, his hooves clacking as they hit the floor, and he ripped open the curtains. The ocean was wild, crashing and gray-green. It was rather bright out, but neither the ocean nor the moon pleased Tumnus as he left his bed and clattered into the main part of his rooms, fretful. He slumped down on a chair near the hearth; his dark eyes dry from forgetting to blink. His thoughts raced.

"How am I ever going to explain this?" He wondered aloud, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He ran long fingers through his tangled hair, plucking out a stray leaf. Memories of the previous night came crashing back and he closed his eyes, nausea taking over.

"I can't be expected to change my behavior, just for Lucy," he reasoned, putting on a kettle to boil, nervously scraping at some left-over paint on his stomach. "I've gone every year since—well, since long before I met her. She can't change everything." He sat again in the chair, knitting his fingers together, nervously. "It's not my fault that she—how did she find it, anyway?" His voice was loud in the room, echoing off stone walls. "Out of all the clearings in Narnia—of the hundreds of fires—she chose mine to come to."

The kettle began hissing and he took it off the burner, not wanting to wake the whole of Cair Paravel. Tumnus grabbed blindly for a mug and tea from his cupboard, stirring the hot water with a wooden spoon. He took his cup but he did not sit; he leaned against the large window in the room, looking out at the ocean. The mug of tea steamed the glass and he wiped the moisture away.

"It is just like her," he murmured, startled by how completely she was woven into everything he knew. He smiled briefly, until the memory of her horrified face brought him back to reality. "Aslan, my head hurts."

"Can't say I blame you for being a wreck," a voice came from the doorway, low and dark. Tumnus spun, his hooves grinding on the stone. "I'd feel the same way."

Tumnus approached the shadowy figure leaning in the doorway, clutching his mug as though it would protect him.

"Can I help you?" He asked, voice shaky from exhaustion and regret.

"Yes," the man replied, closing the door behind him. "You can stay away from my fiancé."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Tumnus protested, backing up as the figure approached. He stepped into the light from the window; his dark hair shone like a crow's wing. Tumnus bumped against the counter, pupils large in the dark.

"You know very well what I mean, Faun," the voice sneered, as Prince Noor stood before Tumnus. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of a sword, stuck in his belt. "She is far too delicate a flower for your rough ways—not as though she would ever feel anything towards a beast like you. I don't understand what she wants from you at all—but you can want nothing decent of her."

"Queen Lucy is my friend," Tumnus said, voice low; he hated feeling inferior to humans as he did. Noor was much taller and stronger than Tumnus, and armed besides. There was not much Tumnus could do in defense against him, and the thought infuriated the normally proud faun. "And that is all I want from her. And what she wants from me. I have known her since she was a little girl."

"All the more reason your infatuation is disgusting," the Prince snapped, interrupting Tumnus' train of thought. "You will stay away from her, beast. You have nothing to offer—except for fleas." He staggered a little as he came closer to Tumnus, and Tumnus smelled wine on his breath.

"You're drunk," Tumnus said shortly, moving towards the fireplace.

"So what," spat Noor, stumbling over the rug as he followed Tumnus to the hearth. "Your kind is drunk most days. You ought to be accustomed to it."

"And did Lucy send you, to tell me she hates me so?" Tumnus' voice was hard.

"Do not dare to address her by her given name!" Noor shouted, so loudly that Tumnus was sure someone must have heard them. "She is a Queen, you filthy beast, and you are unfit to have her name on your lips."

"You did not answer my question," Tumnus said calmly, his hand brushing along the wall behind him.

"She did not need to say anything," Noor sneered. "It's clear enough that she loathes you. She is simply too sweet to tell you, poor creature. She does not want to hurt the rough feelings you have—if you have any."

"You're a liar," Tumnus growled. "King Edmund told me that it was you who demanded she not see me any more. Are you afraid, Noor? Are you afraid that perhaps dear Lucy cares for a lowly faun more than you? Could it be, perhaps, that she holds no love for you at all? Would you like to know the truth?"

"How dare you accuse me of lying!" Noor yelled, swaying a little as he drew his sword.

"Either you or King Edmund is the liar," Tumnus replied shortly, "and I can assure you it is not a King of Narnia."

"I will be King of Narnia," Noor said in a whisper, putting the edge of the blade against Tumnus' neck. "And you, faun, will be nothing but dog food."

"There are only two Kings of Narnia," Tumnus said, hand closing around what he had been looking for. "And you will never, ever be able to call yourself King, no matter if you force Lucy to marry you or not."

"I should kill you here, in your own filth-ridden cave," hissed Noor, the edge of the sword biting into Tumnus' skin. "By the lion, but it reeks of shit in here. Can you not even clean a little bit? It is a blessing I am taking Lucy away from this place. This is not fit for a servant, let alone a Queen."

"If you kill me," Tumnus said, voice low, "then you will truly find out that it is I Lucy cares for, not you." He tried to look serious as he leveled his gaze with Noor's, his hand tightening around the handle of the iron poker. "If you kill me, you will never set foot in Narnia again."

"You insolent creature," Noor spat, eyes blurry from the wine. "For that, I will kill you. And I will think of you and laugh when I have Lucy in my bed."

Tumnus' eyes flared in anger, and without moving his head he whipped the poker from the rack it stood in and bashed Noor upside the head. The Prince collapsed, looking stunned, the sword clattering to the stone floor. Tumnus stood, heart racing, clutching the poker in both hands. Noor did not stir.

"Oh, God," he whispered, "I've killed the bastard."

Lucy walked softly along the white beach of the Eastern Sea, her hem trailing in the powdery sand. Her long hair was white in the moonlight, blowing wildly as she made her way to the other side of the castle. Her mind raced with all the possibilities of how the conversation could go; she tried not to think too hard on any one scenario. She crept to the large window of his room. Quietly, she tried the latch; finding it unfastened, she gently pushed the glass open and hoisted herself up the short distance to the sill. She slipped into his room, closed the window behind her. She smelled tea and touched the kettle's side; feeling it still warm, she crept to the hearth.

Tumnus was not there.

She peered into his bedroom, half-expecting to find him up and reading, or perhaps already asleep. But he was not sitting in the chair by the lamp; nor was he asleep in the bed. The lamp was not lit at all.

She backed out of the room, and she bumped into something solid and very warm. With a scream, she turned around, as someone frantically hushed her and clapped a warm, long-fingered hand over her mouth.

"Lucy, shh, no!" Tumnus whispered frantically, putting a finger to his lips. "You mustn't make such noise! Do you want Peter to come down here and find us?" He uncovered her mouth; she seemed to have recovered from her shock.

"I'm sorry, you startled me," she said. She refrained from throwing her arms about him, reminding herself she was still upset with him. It was only after a moment, her eyes adjusting to the dark, that she saw the long, shallow gash on his neck. "Oh, Mr. Tumnus, what happened?"

"Your pig fiancé," he said with contempt, then looked suddenly sheepish. "This is not what it looks like."

Lucy followed his eyes to the dark shape on the floor. Her mouth fell open.

"Please tell me he isn't…" she whispered, terror filling her.

"No, no, he's only unconscious," Tumnus reassured her, crouching down by Noor's head to show her. He picked up one of Noor's brown arms and dropped it, watching it bounce against the stone floor. "He'll be fine, but I've got to get him out of here."

"What did you do to him?" Lucy asked aloud, still in shock at seeing Noor's prone body on her gentle friend's floor.

"I hit him with the fireplace poker," Tumnus said sheepishly, and he was surprised when Lucy laughed. "He came bursting in here stone drunk, waving his sword about and calling me all sorts of dreadful names."

"Well, come on, I'll take his feet," Lucy said calmly, picking up Noor's heavy boots; and as Tumnus understood that she meant to help him move the body, he realized he was in love with her.

They got Noor back to his rooms without much incident; Lucy nudged the unlocked door open with her hip and they laid Noor out on the bed, not bothering to remove his boots. Tumnus put his sword beside him and Lucy put the empty wine bottle back on his bedside table.

"There," she whispered, "no harm done."

"Lucy—" Tumnus said hoarsely, but she shook her head.

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. He noticed that her hair was loose and then he looked at her—really looked at her—and he nearly wept at her beauty.

The light from the setting moon lit her from behind, making her hair glow a golden-white, tumbling loose in waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her slender body was a graceful shadow in the dress she wore; but it was her face that made him speechless. Her large blue eyes were watching him intently, as though he were the only person in the world that mattered. Her small mouth was open, and though she did not smile he couldn't help thinking that her pink lips were just like a rose or a shell or something else rare and overlooked. He was sure, at that moment, he could not live without her.

On the bed, Noor moaned, and Tumnus looked to Lucy for an answer.

"Where?" He asked in a whisper, and she took his wrist in her small, fair hand and led him quickly from Noor's room and down the hallway where her brothers and sister slept. She pulled him into her rooms; she shut the large white doors behind them and locked them with a silver key. She pulled it out of the lock and set it on her vanity. She closed the French doors off her balcony and locked those, as well.

He stood across the room from her as they looked at each other, suddenly shy, and he felt as though they were at an impasse he could never cross.

"The other night—" he began with a croak, as though he had not used his voice in a long time.

"I saw," she said in a sharp breath, seeming to waver on her feet. "I saw everything. Mr. Tumnus, why? Why would you do such a thing as that?"

"I've always done it," he said, though he knew it was no excuse. "I've gone to equinoctial celebrations every season, since I reached adulthood hundreds of years ago. I have always gone hoping to find a wife."

"But it's so—barbaric," Lucy said in a small voice. He wanted to hold her, comfort her; to reassure her that nothing had changed. I am still your Mr. Tumnus, he longed to tell her, but no words came out. He sat down suddenly on the edge of her bed.

"I don't know how to explain," he said finally, voice hollow. "I don't know how to make you see it's not what it looked like."

"You still have all that paint on you," she murmured, coming close to him. Her fingertips reached out and brushed over his stomach, across red paint that had failed to wash off. His skin shivered below her touch, and she drew her hand away. "Mr. Tumnus, I don't understand how you could have never told me." Her voice was far away and sad. "I thought you were my dearest friend."

"I am, Lucy," he said imploringly. "Certainly you know that! Aren't I yours?" He asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.

"Yes, you are," she said, voice weak, sitting down on the bed across from him. "That is why I'm so confused. I tell you everything, Mr. Tumnus, but this—this ritual—that is such a part of your life, well; you never told me a thing about it."

"I didn't see a reason to tell you," he said, hands in his lap, ashamed.

"Well, you should have," she said severely, and he looked up at her in surprise. "I have a right to know what immoral things you do. I would like to have that, in my consideration of the friendship. I feel as though you have lied to me."

"Oh, but Lucy, it's not immoral at all," Tumnus protested, leaning to take her hands in his. She flinched when he touched her and he dropped back, stung. "It's not immoral. It's what my kind has done for thousands of years—and even longer. It's just a celebration, Lucy."

"That is something you only do with someone you love," Lucy whispered, not looking at him.

"Why do you say that?" He looked genuinely confused.

"The Bible says so," Lucy said, voice a little stronger, meeting his eyes. Tumnus sighed.

"Well, I've never read the Bible," he said shortly, though he knew that it hurt her feelings to have him scorn the book she held so dear. "But do you believe that Aslan knows what is wrong and what is right?"

"Yes, of course," she said, with the utmost faith.

"Aslan knows about the celebrations," Tumnus told her, his eyes sincere. "He knows about them and he does not condemn them. They are an important part of Narnian culture."

"But it's wrong," Lucy whispered again.

"Why?" Tumnus asked.

Lucy tried to find a response, but she couldn't seem to come up with one to her satisfaction. Instead, she asked him a startling question:

"Are you in love, Mr. Tumnus?"

He regarded her with dark eyes and he could not lie to her, not with her looking at him so.

"Yes," he answered honestly, "but not with anyone at that celebration."

"Oh," her voice wobbled. "I—I see."

They sat in silence, words stuck in the air between them.

"Who is she?" Lucy asked again, her voice plaintive, an injured kitten's mewl.

"She is beautiful," Tumnus said, voice reverent. Lucy closed her eyes; she would not look at him. "You know her very well. She loves the ocean and the woods; she loves stories and she loves having tea with an old goat, and she never ever thinks less of me for not being human. She sings so prettily and she has the most lovely golden hair." Lucy did not look up at him. "You must know, Lucy."

"How could I know?"

"You notice I do not hang about your sister like I do you."

"But Susan is so beautiful—everyone says so—"

"Susan," Tumnus interrupted, "is not as beautiful as you. Susan's eyes do not burn with a passion to know more. Susan's heart is not pure with love for Narnia. Susan does not go swimming with me. Susan does not tell me stories. I have never tucked Susan in at night and I have never had Susan for tea. Susan, forgive me, is not half the queen or girl that you are."

Lucy was silent.

"I hope you do not think I speak ill of your sister," Tumnus continued, barreling ahead now that he had started this speech. "But she cannot hold a candle to you, Lucy. You are the only reason I survived the Witch's castle. You are the reason I lived through the Hundred Years' Winter. Lucy, I could survive only because I knew that you were out there, somewhere, saving me and saving all of Narnia. Lucy, you are a gift the likes of which I never thought I would know. I am blessed to know you. And I am unbelievably lucky to have you as my dear friend. Lucy, without you, I am nothing. I am dead."

Lucy did not reply. With her hands clenched in her lap and her head bowed, she was almost like a statue.

"Say something, please," Tumnus said desperately.

Lucy looked up at him with those blue eyes that drew in the world. Without a word, she leaned across the bed and pressed her lips to his.

He froze in shock, but then his arms were around her and she was alive under his hands, and he pulled her roughly into his lap. He felt her legs on either side of his torso, and his hands found her hair, mouth forceful against hers.

"I am not human," he gasped, as their lips splintered apart, her breath hot against his face. "Lucy, I am not human."

"I don't care," she said, voice thick with desire. "You are my Mr. Tumnus, and that is all that matters." Her hands stroked the thick hair of his legs. "I so love the feeling of fur," her voice purred against his ear, and he seized on her, no thought to controlling the feelings she pulled from him.

He felt the need to talk—to spill everything out before her. There were so many arguments against this, but he could not listen to those with his throat choking on confessions of love—things he had only dreamed of saying.

"I was, firstly, your teacher," he whispered to her, winding his long fingers through her loose hair. "You always asked me for advice, for stories—for everything, Lucy. I was your mentor. And I vowed I'd answer everything you ever asked me, if I possibly could. I resolved to give you all the knowledge and all the lessons. But it was you who taught me everything, despite my resolve. You taught me what matters, Lucy." Her eyes studied his, round and unguarded. "Every lesson I learnt from you."

"My dear," she murmured against his mouth, belly against belly, chest against chest. Smooth thighs wrapped around his waist tightly. The sole of her foot brushed his tail in passing. "You were, firstly, the other half of me."

"This body—this useless body—it lives for so long but it's worthless without you," he continued, blind, her light scorching his eyes. "My heart fails, my knees buckle—my lungs can't breathe when I am alone, when you're not with me." She dragged her lips down his throat and if he didn't know better he would have thought she had done this so many times before. We just fit together, he thought wildly, before her voice interrupted his contemplation.

"I like your body," she said; voice full of gravel, her hands tangled in his curls. Her words were simple, so like the child she longed to be, that for a moment he thought this is wrong before desire overtook him entirely, her hands in his lap, searching, groping—destroying.

"Oh, Lucy, how can I live without you?" He scrabbled with her dress, ripping the buttons off, exposing her freckled back. Strong hands against her spine for an instant, and then he had her naked before him. He stopped, for an instant, to admire her in a way he'd never been able to before.

"You don't have to."

"We mustn't do this," he replied huskily. "This can never work out. Lucy, us together can only bring sorrow."

"That is what Peter and Susan say," she agreed, as their mouths meshed together. "I don't care," she said. "I like you."

"This will end badly," he moaned against her neck.

"No, it won't," she said, tossing back her golden hair, his fingers on either side of her narrow spine. "It will end just fine."

"How do you know?" His breathing was ragged as she clung to him, tugging on his long ears, the pads of her thumbs stroking the nubs where his horns used to be.

"I just know," she mumbled. "It has to end fine. How else can it end? It's always been you and me, hasn't it? I don't see any reason why—oh, God," she drooped forward, lips parted. "Why do you make me feel this way?"

"I don't know," he whimpered, inhaling the smell of her—ocean salt and jasmine and the whole of the world. "I don't know anything anymore."

"It must be because I'm in love with you," she gasped, crumpling in his arms. "It's the only explanation."

"Lucy," he breathed, and they collapsed together, slick with sweat. His musk, a heady animal smell, was heavy in the room.

"You can't stay," Lucy whispered, mouth against his neck.

"No," he said gently, and cradled her when she fell asleep. He lay awake for a long time after, memorizing the feeling of her curled along his side. He traced the shape of her face with his fingers. He counted the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"Lucy," he murmured, brushing aside her hair. He laughed quietly. He had meant to say beautiful—but he supposed her name was a synonym for that.

He fell asleep without meaning to, sated and complete, his head pillowed on her chest, her hands clenched in his.