A/N: Another Tumnus story – finally!
Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia, although I do like to play in it.
Chapter 1: The White Stag…
…in which Tumnus sees an Astonishing Sight, and gets a Grand Idea.
Leaves were turning red and gold, yet bright sunlight streamed down between the trees. A lone figure wandered idly through the forest, disturbing the quiet with his slightly off-key humming. He bent occasionally to pick up a stick of firewood, until he gathered a respectable amount. Carefully tying the bundle of sticks with a twist of rope, and knotting it neatly, he sat down on a log to rest.
Mr. Tumnus was now a middle-aged Faun, and he was not as fit as he used to be. Puffing slightly, he mopped his damp brow with the end of his scarf, which was draped loosely about his neck. The red woollen muffler was ragged and patched, yet Tumnus continued to wear it out of long habit, despite Mrs. Beaver's objections that it was "no better than an old rag" and "deserved to be thrown in the bin."
The Faun frowned as he remembered her nagging words. "'Thrown in a bin' indeed!" he snorted. Mrs. Beaver baked the best bread in the Western Woods, and she and Mr. Beaver were the finest neighbours any Faun could ask for. But Tumnus was incredibly fond of his red muffler, and not ashamed to confess his odd sort of sentimentality. Mr. Beaver merely chortled and remarked that it was a sign of old age. "'Old age' indeed!" Mr. Tumnus scoffed petulantly.
The Faun opened a small wickerwork basket that he had brought along, and proceeded to lay out a picnic lunch. Atop the checkered cloth he set a generous stack of toast, some marmalade, a wedge of yellow cheese, two russet apples, and a bottle of milk. The days of purchasing food secretly from traders, who smuggled supplies from Calormene, were over. Crops, gardens, and orchards had flourished in the rich Narnian soil.
Tumnus ruefully looked down at his midsection, which was beginning to get quite plump from years of soft living. Then with a cheerful shrug, he reached for the cheese.
As he ate his meal, the Faun allowed his contented mind to wander. Kings Peter and Edmund, and Queens Susan and Lucy, had ruled for fifteen years – a wonderful fifteen years. Narnia had been restored to its former glory: Nymphs and Dryads came fearlessly out of their wells and trees to dance with the Fauns all through the night; the Red Dwarfs openly welcomed visitors to feast with them and delve for treasure in their deep mines; and Bacchus himself had come only last summer, the rivers flowing red with wine as the forest-folk gave themselves up to revelry.
Tumnus finished his meal and drained the milk-bottle, wiping white froth from his curly beard. He gave a contented sigh and patted his full belly, before pushing himself up to his hooves. The Faun fastidiously tucked away the picnic things, not forgetting to brush crumbs from the tablecloth with his finicky fingers. Hoisting the bundle of wood with one hand and picking up the basket with the other, Mr. Tumnus turned to head for home.
He froze in his tracks, scarcely daring to breathe.
There, standing at the crest of a hillock a short distance away, stood a pure-white stag.
It slowly turned its magnificent antlered head towards him, and the Faun felt himself being scrutinized by a pair of bright, intelligent eyes. He shivered involuntarily under that wise old gaze.
Mr. Tumnus could scarcely believe what he was seeing. It could be none other than the White Stag, which gave you wishes if you caught it! Basket and firewood tumbled from his hands, hitting the forest floor with a loud clatter. "Oh!" the Faun squeaked in dismay.
The White Stag sprang nimbly into a thicket. The spell was broken.
Tumnus bent and scooped up the scattered sticks and dishes, piling them haphazardly into his arms in his haste. As the Faun trotted back to his little cave, leaving a trail of cutlery and fragments of leftover food in his wake, his head buzzed with excitement. He was panting and blowing as he scurried through the underbrush, cursing himself furiously for having grown so stout. Why, in the days of eternal winter, he'd had to walk for miles and miles – uphill in blowing snow! – just to buy supplies from the secret traders.
As he scampered over a small rise, he started to smile to himself. He couldn't wait to spread the news! He'd muster up a hunting party at once, and it would be just like old times...
…but no.
Tumnus stopped still, three sticks of firewood slipping unheeded from his arms.
The honour of hunting the White Stag after its long absence from Narnia should be reserved for their Majesties. The last time the Stag had appeared had been long before their reign, and it was only fitting. Tumnus nodded to himself happily. Yes, that sounded right.
The Faun grinned as he imagined the look on Queen Lucy's face. Hitching up basket and firewood more securely, he continued on to his little cave.
A/N: A bit of a slow intro, I know, but necessary to set the scene. The next chapter will be better, for Tumnus is going to the palace! Review, please?
