2.) The End Of Christmas

The bottom of the snowman now had a two-foot diameter. And Lucy's mouth had not stopped running as the ball grew. "I hope Father Christmas brings me tap-dancing shoes. I'm desperate for tap-dancing shoes. I've wanted tap-dancing shoes my whole life. I think Susan was actually planning to get me some one Christmas, but she gave me a sweater instead. Do you think Father Christmas will actually come to Cair Paravel?" she demanded of Tumnus.

"I can't say, Queen Lucy," Tumnus shrugged. "It's been such a long time."

And then, from the depths of his memory, Tumnus's heard his mother singing. As he remembered when she had last sang that song, he shut his eyes and tried to ignore it. But the soft soprano voice persisted, and brought Tumnus back to his last Christmas...when he was seven years old.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old. From angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold."

Though seven-year-old Tumnus didn't exactly understand the words of that song, he shrieked it out best he could, along with his mother and her small crew of carolers. The singers stood before Beaversdam, where the Beavers listened and smiled. When the song was over, Mr. Beaver clapped his paws heartily and requested an encore (which he was politely refused). Mrs. Beaver made sure that all the carolers got a steaming cup of eggnog, except Tumnus, whose mother, Ginevra, declared he was too small for eggnog. Then Mrs. Beaver offered him a hot cinnamon roll, and he accepted with alacrity. Eventually, most of the carolers dispersed towards their homes, but Ginevra remained standing in the snow with her son, as she wished to chat briefly with Mrs. Beaver.

Ginevra smiled and shook her head. "Well, Tumnus, you got a marmalade bun from the Raccoons, cookies from the Buffins, and now a cinnamon roll. If you get anymore sugar tonight, laddie, we'll have to tie you down when you go to bed."

"A young'un can't have too much sugar, Ginevra," Mrs. Beaver chuckled.

"Just wait till you've got bairnies of your own, Mrs. Beaver," Ginevra replied, taking a long sip of eggnog.

"Looks like we'll get another snowstorm tonight," Mr. Beaver cut in, with the grim satisfaction of one delivering bad news.

"More snow?" Ginevra groaned, blowing into her hands.

"You can't expect summer weather during Christmas time, darling," Mrs. Beaver grinned.

"I like snow!" Tumnus interrupted around a mouthful of cinnamon roll. "There's ice skating, and snowball fights, and sledding..."

"And worn-out mittens, and runny noses," Ginevra continued pessimistically, but to be fair, she added, "And Father Christmas comes."

Tumnus scrunched his eyebrows together solemnly. "But Grandmother said there is no Father Christmas."

Mrs. Beaver patted his shoulder reassuringly. "It's because she's getting along in years, sweeting, and she doesn't remember as much as she used to."

"But Mentius said the same thing," Tumnus insisted. (Mentius was a nine-year-old Faun who lived next door to Tumnus.)

"Now listen here," Ginevra interrupted, hands on hips in a mock scolding attitude, "I know Father Christmas is real, and don't you think I'd know more than that silly Mentius?"

"Yes," Tumnus nodded, finishing his cinnamon roll.

"Say, Ginevra," Mr. Beaver said, "what was that last number you all sang?"

"It Came Upon A Midnight Clear,"

"Can you sing it again? I hadn't heard it before today."

"Oh, well, it's getting late, Beaver--" Ginevra started to protest.

"Please, love?" Mrs. Beavwer seconded the request. "It was a beautiful song, and you've got the best voice this side of the Great River."

Cheeks glowing at the compliment, Ginevra said, "All right, a few bars, but then we really must be getting home."

As Ginevra returned her eggnog to Mrs. Beaver and began the song, Tumnus leaned sleepily against her. "If I sang, would I get another cinnamon roll?" he wondered silently, but, somehow, he felt too tired to sing again. He'd been tramping alongside his mother all night, straining his inexperienced voice and being rewarded with sweets. It had been a fun night, but he felt ready to go home and wait for Father Christmas.

Tumnus's ears suddenly pricked as an unusual noise joined the quiet of the wood and his mother's voice. It sounded something like the little bells that his aunt hung on her front door at Christmas, only sharper and higher. It grew louder and louder, joined by many thunderous hoofbeats and a shouting voice. After a minute, Ginevra and the Beavers, noticing the sound, quieted down and listened.

An unexpected sight swept over a nearby snowbank, obviously the source of the sound, and the four Narnians gathered there could only gape. Coming to a stop near them was a magnificent sleigh, carved from a glacier, pulled by a small band of spindly reindeer. A fat black dwarf, beard falling over his furry coat, sat in the front of the sleigh and drove the reindeer with shouts and resentful cracks of his leather crop. But what sat in the sleigh behind him quite staggered Tumnus--a tall, pale, beautiful lady, in sumptuous white robes. Her golden hair was twisted in strange rolls about her head, underneath a pristine crown of icicles. Yet in spite of all this loveliness, the black glitter in her eyes made Tumnus seek refuge behind his mother.

The Lady rose regally from her sleigh, but did not deign to step down onto the snowy ground. Looking down her delicate nose at the Beavers and Fauns, she spoke, in a placidly threatening voice. "My police have delivered me an alarming report to me. It seems you are among the few infidels left in Narnia who still celebrate Christmas, contrary to my laws."

"Your laws?" Mr. Beaver sputtered indignantly. "And just who might you be, missie?"

The Lady's eyes widened and nostrils flared, but her voice did not change. "Down on your knee. We are Jadis, Queen of Narnia, you knave."

"Queen of Narnia?" Ginevra spat, gathering Tumnus in her arms. "It's the first I've heard about it! Tell that to King Tristan!"

"I already have," the Lady replied, a smile that more resembled a grimace contorting her face. With that, she drew something from her robes and held it where they could see. A tiny golden ring, set with an iridescent red jewel, glittered between Jadis's fingers. Tumnus didn't understand what it meant, but he understood the menacing, triumphant look in the Lady's eyes, and he shrank further behind Ginevra.

After a moment, Mrs. Beaver gasped. "Oh, dear God--it's the King's ring."

"All that's left of him," Jadis concluded calmly. "Christmas in Narnia is banned. Understand that, my little creatures, and I shall spare your life this time."

Mr. and Mrs. beaver only stared at each other, dumbfounded, nothing to say. But Ginevra, alas, had plenty to say. She drew herself up to full height and shrieked vengefully, "Then you have murdered the monarch that Aslan has appointed and tried to suppress a holiday he ordained! Black, black be your fall if you rebel against the Son of the Emperor Beyond The Sea! Black be your fall if you arrogantly tyrannize free Narnians!"

What happened next was still smudged and blurred in Tumnus's mind, like a watercolour painting left in the rain. He toppled on the ground, and something incredibly hard and heavy pressed down on him, crushing him. As he screamed in pain, his mother's voice was arrested in time. The weight lifted off him after a frantic scuffle, and he faintly heard those bells that he'd heard earlier retreating. Then he was in Mrs. Beaver's arms. Unable to think straight, Tumnus simply clung to her, burying his nose in her warm fur.

After a moment, the confused, dark clouds in his mind cleared, and he pulled away from Mrs. Beaver a little. Where was his mother? She had shouted at the Lady, and that was the last he'd heard of her. Mr. Beaver stood, shock scribbled on his honest face, near a stone statue. It was a statue of a Faun, lying on its back, and it had been broken in two at the waist. How had it got there?

"Wh-where's Mum?" he demanded.

Mrs. Beaver held him close again, trembling. "Now don't worry, sweeting. Beaver, what do we do?"

Mr. Beaver sighed. "Take him to his dad," he said in a gruff voice. "We'll figure it out from there."

"Are you all right, Tumnus?" Mrs. Beaver asked the young Faun.

"Where's Mum? I want Mum," Tumnus repeated stupidly, eyes fixed bemusedly on the statue.

And then he realized.

That statue was his mother.

Tumnus stood still as iron, blue eyes blank with horror. Mrs. Beaver noticed the look and yet again hugged him to her, sobbing, "I--I don't--I'm s-so sorry, sweeting! I'm so sorry!"

The repeated words of compassion echoed dim and metallic in Tumnus's childish mind, and the snowy wood shimmered into disturbing, swirling waves, giving way to darkness.

Tumnus pressed his fist to his mouth, stopping a sob from jarring the peace of the courtyard just in time. After his mother's death, his father had grown increasingly distant and cold. Sometimes he would snap at Tumnus, sometimes ignore him. Eventually, when Tumnus was fifteen, Jadis sent some Narnians into unprovoked battle against Archenland, Tumnus's father among them. He was never heard from again. But most alarming was that after that horrible Christmas, winter did not stop. Year after year, snow and ice blanketed Narnia.

Just like it blanketed this infernal courtyard.

"Didn't you hear me, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy's small, outraged voice broke Tumnus grim reverie. He snapped to attention as Lucy indicated the enormous snowball she had created. "That's the bottom of the snowman."

"Ah yes," Tumnus nodded quickly. "It's coming along well."