ABSOLUTION

Well, it's about time! I was starting to fear I'd get nowhere with this story. But I'm so glad the muse has made a comeback, for the time being, anyway.

I don't like seeing Tumnus this way any more than the rest of you do. Yet I must confess it's oddly refreshing to show him in a different light, where he's not always so kind and gentle. This makes him more human, if you'll pardon the pun. Flaws and weaknesses make a character more reliable and believable. This makes Tumnus less of a Gary Stu, something I'm striving to avoid in all of my stories, and not just my fan stories.

And the good news is that the worst is over. Tumnus slowly begins to mellow out from this point on.

Characters © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

"Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Till seven times?
Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, until seven times: but, until seventy times seven."

~ St. Matthew 18:21—22 (KJV)

"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."

— Mahatma Gandhi

PART 3

Later that same day, while Tumnus was sulking in his private study, his sharp ears presently heard the dull thud of hooves and the rattle of armor outside his door.

He knew, even before he'd looked up, that his visitor was the centaur, Oreius, also known as General Oreius. As always, Oreius was decked out in full armor, with numerous swords and other handy weapons strapped to his flanks. Only his head was bare, so his sleek black hair and his handsome yet hardy face were on clear display. "General," the faun acknowledged the moment he saw him.

"Hello, Tumnus." Oreius's words were civil enough, but his tone was crisp.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to have a word with you," said the centaur as he sauntered forward and stood on the opposite end of Tumnus's desk.

Tumnus sighed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Can't a faun ever get a moment's peace around this place? When will people learn to just leave me alone?"

Oreius countered, "And when will you learn to stop being so infernally stubborn and thickheaded?"

In addition to the twinge of anger at the insult, Tumnus was a little impressed with Oreius's choice of words. "I assume you are speaking of my issue with our so-called 'Just King'?" He took care to avoid giving actual voice to Edmund's name.

"You are correct to assume." When Tumnus said nothing to this, Oreius went on tersely, "You know, Tumnus, sometimes I genuinely like you—"

"Well, thanks very much."

"—and other times, I would like nothing more than to squeeze your skinny neck."

A wave of hotness swept over Tumnus's face. He opened his mouth, as if to make a snappy comeback, but Oreius resolutely plowed on. "Really, Tumnus, in all honesty, I think enough is enough."

"So, the poor little king came crying to you and begged you to speak to me on his behalf? If that's the case, you're just wasting your time."

Oreius's nut-brown face flushed a notable shade of crimson. "You'd better watch that tongue of yours, boy!" he snapped, and Tumnus actually gave a small jump at the severity of his tone. "It's liable to get you into some serious trouble someday. Furthermore, Edmund had never done anything of the sort; I came of my own accord. I saw you two earlier today and heard everything that you said."

"Then you were spying on me."

Oreius looked as if Tumnus had mortally offended him. "I did absolutely nothing of the sort!" he said hotly, his eyes blazing. "I was simply passing by. Do excuse me for having a sharp ear. You weren't exactly quiet, you know."

Turning away from the big black centaur, Tumnus muttered, "Leave me alone, Oreius. This is none of your concern."

"Anything that concerns our Four Monarchs is a concern of mine. And somebody has to try to knock a bit of sense into you. Why must you be so blasted difficult about this, Tumnus? Why must you be so cruel to the boy?"

"I'm only giving him what he truly deserves."

"Is it for you to judge?" This caught Tumnus's attention right away, like a fish ensnared on a hook. He looked at Oreius again with an expression of mingled anger and bewilderment, and Oreius told the faun in a low but very brusque tone, "You seem to think it's your duty to pass judgment to others, to make the punishment as swift and severe as possible—when that role belongs to our Lord, Aslan."

"Well, what about you, Oreius?" Tumnus shot back. "If I recall correctly, you yourself deemed Edmund a traitor. There was a time, not so long ago, when you were just as mistrustful of him as anyone else."

He could tell from Oreius's face that his words had struck home. Oreius closed his eyes for a moment, as if the memory were painful. But when he had recovered himself and could speak, he said quite calmly, "I will not deny that that had been the case at one point." In another moment, he continued, "But now I know Edmund better, and I renounce my former opinion of him, for now and for all time."

"That doesn't mean I have to do the same as you," said Tumnus tenaciously, though he felt his stomach give a slight squirm.

"He is only a child," Oreius persisted.

"That's no excuse."

"He has proven he has changed for the better—and I just can't believe you brushed him off the way you did, after he explicitly told you he was sorry."

"Simply being sorry is not good enough. It's nowhere near half good enough."

"Edmund has done everything in his power to show you he truly regrets what he's done. What more do you want?"

"I just can't forgive him, Oreius."

"You mean, you won't."

"What else can I do? Do you truly expect me to just let it all go? You think I can simply 'forget' about everything? Imagine if one of your limbs was cut off during battle. Sure, you may still be alive, but is that something you can forget so easily?"

"I don't expect you to forget it. No one does. But you don't have to shun Edmund like a foul disease, either. It's true that you suffered dearly, but so has he. What you're doing only rubs further salt into the wound."

Tumnus clenched his fists, knowing that Oreius was right, yet not wanting to admit it.

"Furthermore, by refusing to forgive Edmund, you're proving yourself a hypocrite."

"Hypocrite?" Tumnus repeated the word like it was alien.

"In case it's slipped your mind, faun,"—Oreius nearly spat it out—"Edmund wasn't the only one rubbing elbows with the White Witch."

Tumnus knew Oreius was reminding him of his own time spent in Jadis's employment. He bristled, feeling like a rabbit who had been cornered by an unrelenting wolf. "That was different," he said succinctly. "I was in an extremely dangerous position, as were we all. I was merely doing what I could to stay alive. Unlike Edmund, I wasn't some arrogant, pampered, self-absorbed brat who was taken in by promises of candy and special treatment. Unlike the boy, I couldn't afford to take chances. I only did what I did because I didn't want any trouble."

"So, you believe that automatically justifies you, don't you? You think Edmund ought to be punished forever for his alliance with the Witch, while you get off scot-free?"

Tumnus opened his mouth, but closed it again a second later, unsure of how to respond to that last statement.

"If I told you to tie a stone around your neck and throw yourself into the sea," Oreius continued, "and you obeyed me, it would still be suicide."

A long, weighty silence followed this speech.

"Leave me," was the only thing Tumnus could find to say.

For a brief moment, Oreius looked quite ready to slap Tumnus's face. In those few intense seconds, Tumnus feared that he would; when Oreius lifted a large hand into the air, Tumnus instinctively shielded his face with his arm and recoiled. But then Oreius's hand simply dropped to his side. He gazed down at Tumnus for a minute or so longer, his face a mix of emotions, before he finally did as he was asked and headed for the door.

Just before he set hoof over the threshold, however, he did have one thing more to say. Though Tumnus couldn't see his face, the general's voice sounded oddly strained as he said, "Don't do this, Tumnus. You will regret it the rest of your life if you do. Nothing good can ever come out of harboring poison from the past. Let it go, Tumnus; for your sake, as much as Edmund's or anyone else's. Let—it—go."

With that, he was gone, as though he was never there in the first place.

When Tumnus sensed he was truly alone, he sank back in his chair and buried his face in his hands.