Disclaimer: Yes, I own Narnia. And Christmas. And Talking Animals, they live right beside the Oompa-Loompas.
"Come," they told me / Pa rum pum pum pum
"Beaver! Beaver! Wake up!"
The eight-year-old Beaver—one of the few left after the Witch froze all the rivers—rolled over and closed his eyes. "It's the middle of the night," he grumped. He curled his tail back around his body and held it tightly.
"Beaver, come quick! It's the night of the dance!"
A new born king to see / Pa rum pum pum pum
Beaver opened his eyes. He'd forgotten about the dance. Once upon a time—eighty-odd years ago—it had been a yearly tradition for the King or Queen of Narnia, to honour the next year of the ruler's reign.
No one honoured the current Queen, but the Narnians still met, still danced, still honoured Narnia's true Ruler, and His promise that there would be honourable Kings and Queens again one day.
Four of them. Promising just one would have been enough, but the true ruler of Narnia had promised four.
Beaver unrolled himself, slapping the ground with his tail to wake himself up. He yawned and stumbled out after the dancing Fawn, only to stop, turn around, and reach back for his small backpack, with his gift inside. He couldn't forget that.
Our finest gifts we bring / Pa rum pum pum pum / To lay before the king
Once the Narnians had brought their finest gifts to give the King. There were tales—so many tales!—retold after every dance, when the dancers gathered in a large cave, their heat keeping each other warm, and teller after teller spinning stories of what the dances had once been. At Christmas the Kings and Queens gave gifts to their subjects, balls and feasts and bread. At the dance, the Narnians gave back. Once an Elephant had made a snow sculpture as large as himself, fashioning the snow into the image of his Queen. A Horse had spent a year journeying to the far North and back, bringing home strange brown fruits and strange paper-like leaves that only grew in one place there and giving it to his sovereign. Brilliant red clothing, intricately crafted gold, flowers grown in the middle of winter—one year, an Owl whispered, they'd collected enough gems the pile of them stood larger than the blazing bonfire those years always had, and the lame King had wept, for the gems had been enough to ransom the Lone Islands and save his son from going to war at fifteen.
Everyone still brought gifts. Beaver's companion the Fawn had three holly branches on his back that kept slipping off as he leaped and pranced. Beaver didn't mind the young thing's excitement—till the branches fell right on his head! He brought his head up, sputtering, while the Fawn apologised over and over. Beaver finally stuffed the branches in the Fawn's mouth, just to stop him from saying sorry, and the Fawn quickly placed them on his back once more, and the two set off. Beaver, following behind, looked at the three branches. The green leaves and red berries looked all right, sure enough, but they weren't anything like a bonfire-size pile of gemstones.
I am a poor boy too / Pa rum pum pum pum
No one had gems, gold, or velvet clothing now. Not that Beaver really wanted them. What would he do with gold or gems? And red clothing would be so dangerous against this white snow. No, he'd take—take a whole barrel of fish every week instead. Enough to feed all the orphans who gathered in his cave. Or maybe a way to grow crops in winter. Yes, Beaver thought, those would be much better gifts.
But deep down, Beaver knew what he really wanted.
He wanted a friend—one with a little common sense. One he wouldn't have to be a big brother to.
But he had enough common sense to know he probably wouldn't get one, so he shifted his mind back to what he was bringing instead.
I have no gift to bring / Pa rum pum pum pum / That's fit to give our king
He stumbled into the large clearing with the cave beside it and glanced around. The Fawn was already off, proudly bringing his branches to the Dryads. Their towering, sweeping forms drifted around the clearing, sweeping the snow off the trees, while the Dwarves stomped the ground into something firm. Evergreen branches sprinkled with holly berries hung in swooping arches between the trees, and Birds of various colours flew from branch to branch, like live jewels. Several Squirrels ran about, hanging paper crowns at tremendous heights. They would collect them later, Beaver knew, after the dances, and throw them into the small fire in the cave, along with the evergreen and holly—the only evidence of the celebration would be the snow beaten down in the clearing. Beaver headed for the small cave, intent on bringing his own five small gifts.
Shall I play for you / Pa rum pum pum pum
"What's that you're bringing, dear?" asked a motherly Badger. Beaver liked her, she was always the one attending to practical things, like making sure the wood for the fire wasn't wet and wouldn't smoke, or placing it close enough to the door no one choked but far enough in the light would be blocked. Beaver set his bag down and dug into it, closing his paws around the wood, and pulling them out. He reminded himself to be gentle, even while his stomach twisted, and he offered them to the Badger.
"Oh," she exclaimed, voice soft. "Beaver—how thoughtful. I'll put them on this ledge above the fire. What do you think?"
Beaver backed up, craning his head to look up. He was small, but most people weren't, he knew, and they'd be in plain sight for everyone. "That's perfect." He ran to the Badger and gave her a quick hug. "Thanks!"
"Anytime, dear. Now be off, and go help thwack the snow with that tail of yours—I'm having the younger ones with smaller paws get around the trees, and if you'd join them and make sure they get between—I know I can count on you for that! Just the trees right by the clearing, mind!" she called after him as he darted out.
Rum pum pum pum / Pum pum pum pum
The majority of the snow had already been done by the small excited creatures who came with their parents, but there were three trees, Beaver noticed, that no one had touched yet, and with a slight role of his eyes he bounced past the chattering, giggling Animals and began helping the two Dogs and Faun pat all the snow down, hitting his tail on the ground with sharp slaps that packed everything down evenly. He smiled. It was good to be a beaver.
"That was so fast!" exclaimed a high voice, and Beaver turned, realising the Faun had been watching him.
"Thanks," Beaver grunted, examining the other Narnian. The Faun couldn't be too much older than the Beaver, though of course Animals matured earlier, Beaver thought privately. He wore a red scarf and red mittens, and had the happy look of a well-loved child, so Beaver guessed he wasn't one of the orphans. And hopefully not someone Beaver would have to watch tonight.
"Is there anything else to do?" the Faun asked, looking around, and Beaver's estimation of him went up a bit.
"Not for kids to do," he said, but not as gruffly as he might have.
"Then let's get to know each other! My name is Tumnus," the Faun said cheerfully, and looked at Beaver expectantly.
"Beaver."
"I'm looking forward most to the food," Tumnus confided, moving closer. "Dad brought lots and lots of bread, bread with raisins in it! We've been saving them for ages."
"That does sound good," Beaver responded, liking the Faun even more. Food was important, and it appeared the Faun knew that.
"Oh, look, the dance is beginning! We should dance by the trees, then we won't get trampled."
Beaver followed the Faun's lightly dancing feet and admitted to himself, privately, that Tumnus seemed excitable, true, but…he seemed like fun. Perhaps he'd be a good friend.
The ox and lamb kept time / Pa rum pum pum pum
Tumnus and Beaver danced, sometimes with the orphans, sometimes with the other children, for the rest of the night, for Tumnus could get on with anyone, Beaver had found, in a way Beaver couldn't quite manage. But Tumnus never minded when Beaver gave an abrupt check to a plan or spontaneous action, freely admitting the Animal's high common sense. By the time the dances ended both were hungry, laughing, and firmly friends. They headed towards the cave together, dragging a large evergreen branch and throwing it on the fire after Beaver chewed it to small sticks. Branch after branch, paper crowns, and holly berries were already burning, so the pair headed towards the long wooden bench set against one wall, covered with what food people could bring. They both found some of the promised raisin bread, and Beaver found some freshly cooked fish the Centaurs had brought, while Tumnus found some sardines. Then they settled down near the opposite wall, the other children coming after them. It wasn't what Beaver had wanted, but it was, somehow, better. Just like wishing for a King or Queen and being promised Four; Aslan had given more than Beaver asked for.
"Oh!" his new friend squealed, looking towards the fire, and Beaver looked too. "Look! Look, Beaver! Look what someone brought!"
"Something for the fire?" Beaver grunted, scanning it, but it didn't appear to be leaping over the rocks under the sticks, or setting anything or anyone else aflame.
"Above the fire," his friend whispered, and Beaver looked up. Someone had placed holly berries all around his gift—four small, rough thrones he had spent hours whittling with his teeth, and a plaque behind them, where the outline of Cair Paravel outlined words that read, Wrong will be right when Aslan comes in sight; / at the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more. / When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, / and when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."
"Someone brought the promises Aslan made," Tumnus breathed, and Beaver felt his own eyes tearing up, though he blinked furiously to hide it. He hadn't expected his new friend to notice his gift.
I played my best for him / Pa rum pum pum pum
No one burned the wooden thrones, though Beaver half expected them too, as wood was precious. So when the time came to leave—and Beaver said a sad goodbye to Tumnus and his somewhat stern father, promising both to see them in a seven-day—Beaver went to collect the gift he'd brought. With gentle paws he put them back in his small bag.
"That was well done," said a solemn voice behind him, and he jumped, turning to see Tumnus' father standing there. "I came to make sure you knew your way home. So it is you who brought the thrones?"
Beaver nodded. "I wanted us to remember why we danced and ate, why we were here," he said fiercely.
The Faun knelt, helping Beaver strap the bag to his back. Then he patted the young Beaver's head. "You will be a good friend to my son," he said, grave voice offset by the gentleness of his fingers. "He's a good boy, and he has hope, but he needs the fierceness of the faith you have. I'm glad he found you."
"I'm glad too," Beaver said, blinking once again as the Faun stood, for he missed the security his father's gentle strength had once given him. Beaver hadn't known how much he missed it till he felt it again. "I'll do my best."
"If you need help for anything, come find us," Tumnus Sr. said, nodding once before turning to leave.
Then he smiled at me / Pa rum pum pum pum
Beaver was the last one back to the caves where the orphans stayed, and he didn't immediately go inside. Instead he stayed looking around as light dawned over snow, as morning came. It was still a morning where the White Queen ruled, Beaver knew, but…but there were grownups who still believed, dances that still happened, and good things still in Narnia. There were still dawns, still a sun that shone even on the snow.
And this morning the dawn seemed especially bright. The light shone a brilliant gold Beaver had not seen before, and he paused to take it in.
In that moment, amid the golden light, he suddenly felt a warm wind, scented with a sweetness he had never known, and heard a deep voice whisper, "Well done, little Animal who remembered the promises."
Beaver fell on his face, trembling, tears of joy running down his face, and heard the voice say one more thing. "I give you one more promise. You will not see death till the Four come."*
Then the voice was gone, the warmth was gone, and the light, when Beaver lifted his trembling head, was the ordinary white reflecting off the snow, but the voice—the promise—
Beaver couldn't wait to tell his new friend about it, and his new friend's father. Beaver would live to see the Four come. He hoped both the Fauns would too.
*Based, I admit, off of Simeon from the New Testament.
A/N: The holidays are rather difficult this year, and as Walker of Worlds dwells in the dismal and dark, I don't think I want to spend much headspace there over Christmas. I'll start publishing it again after the New Year, when I get back from travelling. In the meantime, I'll try for happy holiday shorts.