Narnia:

When Children Cry

My first phanphic, so be merciful, I beg of you!

SUMMARY:

Part One: Basically, Tumnus' story of his friendship with Lucy.

Part Two: Their friendship after Lucy becomes Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia.

Part Three: Lucy and Tumnus reunite many years later, and how their friendship progresses into love.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lucy, Tumnus, or anything, really, in Part One. I get to own more stuff as the book progresses... but for now, I own nothing; I am simply a phanphiction hobo.

Chapter Nine

Why Tumnus Was Fighting

Tightly clutching Lucy's handkerchief, Tumnus raced ahead with the troop. It did not really have the great impact on his that it should've had; he was about to fight in a war. He in a war, not to mention the fact that he was at a complete loss for weapons or armour. The only thing in his mind was this:

RUN!

And run he did, though it was not of much use, because goats were not built to run on just their hind legs, and Humans can't very well run with their hands. Mostly, Tumnus was tripping and stumbling with differing running positions, barely catching himself when he fell. Blood pounded in his head at a throbbing rhythm, and his breathing was not for the better, there was an absolutely dreadful stitch in both his sides and chest, and his back ached from when he would try to bend over and run with the aid of Human fingers.

It all caught up to him eventually, for he lagged further and further behind the hastening crowd. This was too much for him, far too much. He gave up all strength and fell to the ground, gasping for air and panting. It was such a worry that he was not with the rest of them, that the herd of Talking Beasts and others had raced on ahead of him, that Tumnus was left behind with hardly any life left in him and without the ability to fight for the Narnia he showed loyalty to.

He lay there for quite longer than he'd imagined, for he soon heard a great galloping noise and was suddenly yanked up by the red muffler round his neck. It was not as chafing as it perhaps should have been, but he had no time to worry about that. For he soon found himself straddling a great white horse . . . No, not a horse!

'Oi!' yelled the centaur over his shoulder. 'What do ye think ye're doin, runnin with the crowd like ye're a 'orse or somethin of the like?' The centaur, whose name was Glonthelyn, had a voice thick with an Irish accent and trilled his R's most wonderfully (and in what would have been a comforting way, had it been under different circumstances).

'I - I –' Tumnus stuttered, but before he could finish, Glonthelyn interrupted quite angrily.

'Ye should've been ridin on someone else; a unicorn, p'raps, but not on yere own two feet, yu lit'le scroggin!'

'I –' Tumnus tried again, but was once again cut short.

'Ye're much too small to think ye can keep up with the big crowd, tha's fer sure, my lit'le friend!'

Tumnus did not very much like being called 'little', and began to answer quite indignantly to the Glonthelyn. 'I beg your pardon!'

'Oh, I'm not sayin ye're just a wee thumper like those two there –' Tumnus acknowledged the rabbit couple perched on the centaur's rump quite comfortably. 'But ye're certainly not big enough to try'n keep up wi'd the rest of us!'

'Yes, well I–' Tumnus began, but thought of something. ' "Keep up with the rest of you"? Why, for a centaur, you're a little too far behind to be calling yourself fast!'

'I'm not sayin I'm not a wee far back, but I'm bringin up the rear, young faun, bringin up the rear. Just on the lookout for weak lit'le fellas like you!'

Tumnus seemed about to protest, but he must've realised how foolish he had been, and therefore held his tongue (quite wisely indeed).

It was not long at all before the group ahead of them slowed considerably, and Glonthelyn announced in a grave voice, 'This is where I be lettin ye off, my lit'le friends.' Tumnus bit his lip and carefully slid off the centaur's back, followed by the two rabbits. He was about to go into full battle, about to fight with nothing but his two hoofs and skill. But this war . . . this was not any war. This was being fought for Narnia and for the rightful kings and queens to be ruling it –

Tumnus froze as the thought came to him; part of the reason this war was being fought was for Lucy.

And it was in the name of the rightful queen Lucy that he would fight.

Tumnus stood boldly, lost in the sea of warriors come to the aid of King Peter's army. He could barely see over the mass of heads a great battle, with – Tumnus's heart sank – stone statues scattered all about the field.

But they were not without hope, for there, on the ledge of a great hill, stood the most glorious thing in all of Narnia:

Aslan.

The golden Lion rang out an unconquerable roar, and all fighting on the battlefield turned their heads and hope-filled eyes to their saviour.

In one fluid movement, all of the Beasts behind Aslan opened their mouths and let loose a cry that struck fear into the hearts of their enemies. And Tumnus felt quite certain that although they were greatly outnumbered and barren of hope, no one would lose this battle if they had Aslan's name crested on their lips and thundering in their hearts.