So I might have seen a meme thing and thought of this—and I might regret it. Not a happy fic.
We were told to stop looking. We were told the Four wouldn't be back.
But I don't think any of us could help it. I was an older faun now, old enough I limped home after the dances. The healers said I should walk more and dance less, and so I took walks.
I wasn't looking for them. That's what I told myself.
But the walk I took—it was always to the lamppost. I told myself it was because the lamppost was far enough away that the healers would be satisfied. I told my neighbours it was because I liked the woods around it. I told the people at Cair Paravel I was indulging in memories.
But Oreius, old and stern, gave me a single look. Both of us knew we shouldn't look. Both of us tried to resist.
We looked anyway. Every time I went to the lamppost, I listened, listened for something more than the wind in the trees; listened for a voice. I didn't ask to hear it—I knew she wouldn't be back, but I listened anyway.
I looked for footprints in winter, telling myself I was only looking to see who was about. Squirrels, Stags, once a Dwarf's tread that made my heart leap into my throat—till I remembered that Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve have larger feet, when they are grown.
Yes, I was looking for them. Even though I knew they would not come.
I was looking because I had to.
Many, many years ago, shortly after they walked into our world, Aslan told me I was forgiven. The Lion does not lie.
But forgiven and without consequences can be two separate things.
The Secret Police dragged me, trembling, to the castle, and the White Witch turned me to stone. When her wand pointed at me, I thought it justice. But I woke moments later to the Lion and to my little friend, and it seemed like such a small punishment, when it was done. I thought, how like Aslan's mercy, to make the punishment so much less than the fear.
For years and years, I thought that. Then I heard word of the White Stag. Then I rushed to tell their Majesties about it. Then they left on the hunt.
I've thought through it, over and over. Of course I should have told them news like that. Of course I should have shared that joy. I wasn't doing anything wrong.
But some nights, when there is no company and my books are dull, I sit in front of my fire and wonder—I was the first Narnian they met in this world. It's probably fitting I led them out of it. That's probably why it was me. It's what Aslan had for them, and it's for the best.
But sometimes the tears slip down my face, and I can't help but wonder if this was my real punishment.
A/N: I am sure Aslan corrected Mr. Tumnus, and then Mr. Tumnus met all Four once again in Aslan's country, so this is not the ending of the tale. But—it is a part of it that probably happened. Sorry.