LONELY HEART
I can't believe it's December already. Seems this year went by within the blink of an eye. Well, I can't say I'm too disappointed; it's been a pretty rough year, with lots of emotional ups and downs, and a few tragic losses, so I'm sort of glad 2009 is almost over. Not that 2010 will be perfect, but it's reassuring to know we can at least start off fresh. 2009 hasn't been all THAT bad, though. My writing and artistic skills have definitely improved, and what I did in 2008 kind of pales in comparison to what I can do now. And there have been some happy times this year, so I guess I should be grateful for those. I have learned a few valuable life lessons, too. Even so, let's hope 2010 will be a more pleasant, more merciful year for us all.
Well, here's my latest Narnia story, for your enjoyment. I really should be studying for finals (the most anticipated and most dreaded part of college), but I found a bit of time to work on this.
Don't forget to review me, and kindly save your flames for your marshmallow roasting.
Characters (except Terence) © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media
Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
"Oh, drat it, this dress is at least three inches too long!" Lucy groaned, as she held up her wedding gown to her body and examined herself in the mirror.
"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Beaver kindly assured her, "I shall be more than happy to trim it for you."
"Oh, Mrs. Beaver, that is very sweet of you. But I would hate to impose—"
"Nonsense, love; it's no trouble at all. Besides, this is your wedding! It's the biggest, most beautiful event of your entire life. You deserve to be pampered and indulged like this."
Susan spoke up, "And one of the most important bits of the wedding, Lu, if not the most important, is the wedding gown. It requires the most attention, and the greatest care, of all else."
With her eyes on her reflection, her hands still clasping the gown against her, Lucy asked, "Do you think this is all right, as it is? You don't think it's too plain, do you? Not that I want to be overly lavish, but I do wish to look nice for everyone…especially for Tumnus." Her voice softened considerably as she uttered the name of her betrothed.
Moving in closer to her sister, Susan said, "If I may offer my opinion, I think we ought to add on to the sash, perhaps include a few white beads here, and some lace along the collar here."
Lucy wrinkled her nose. "The sash and beads, maybe…but I don't know about lace, Susan. I would hate to be all frilly and fluffy on my big day."
Susan knitted her brows at her sister at that last bit. She shook her head, as if Lucy had no taste. That was the trouble with having more than one female in the family—everyone had her own ideas of what was elegant, and fashionable. Susan was sophisticated and superior in her choice of clothing; while Lucy was much more casual, not nearly so fussy.
"What's going on in here, ladies?" a male voice spoke suddenly, from outside the room.
With a start, Lucy realized it was Terence. And if Terence was nearby, chances were Tumnus was with him. Hastily, the young bride-to-be folded up her dress and stashed it. No sooner had she covered it up with a blanket (for good measure) than Terence, Lucy's old friend who was a man on the outside but a unicorn on the inside, sauntered into the room. Sure enough, Tumnus, the handsome young faun to whom Lucy was engaged, was right behind him. Tumnus's bare shoulders were swathed in his royal green scarf, and he had a rather shrewd look on his face.
"What are you three dears up to?" the faun asked as he stood before Lucy, Susan, and Mrs. Beaver, one eyebrow cocked above the other.
"Oh, nothing," said Susan airily. "We were simply determining how we are going to properly alter Lucy's ensemble for the upcoming nuptials, nothing more."
"Ah, you're at work on the dress, eh?" remarked Terence. Glancing sideways at Tumnus, the white-haired youth murmured, "I might have known."
"May we be permitted to see this dress?" Tumnus asked.
Both Susan and Mrs. Beaver stared at the faun like he had completely lost his mind.
"Tumnus, you devil!" said Susan incredulously. "Don't you know it's bad luck for a groom to see his bride's gown before the official ceremony?"
Tumnus laughed. "Oh, come now, Susan, that's all superstitious nonsense!"
Lucy said prudently, "Well, even if it is nonsense, I would rather you saw it on our special day, my love. I want to surprise you. I want to appear truly beautiful to you."
Tumnus slowly stepped up closer to her, and brushed his thumb tenderly along her jawline. "You are already truly beautiful to me, Lucy Pevensie," he whispered, his eyes warm, his voice inexpressibly soft. So saying, he leaned in and sealed his lips over Lucy's, and she readily kissed him back. Terence felt an unpleasant knot form in the pit of his stomach as he watched.
"Tumnus…" Susan chided.
"Oh, relax, Susan," said Lucy, when the kiss had broken off. "After all, Tumnus and I are properly committed to one another."
"I even have the ring, right here," Tumnus declared, producing a small, velvet-lined box that he happened to be carrying with him.
The beam of delight that lit up Lucy's face easily outshone the radiance of the sun. "You do?" she squealed, as if she were eight years old all over again. "Oh, let me see, let me see—"
But Tumnus playfully held it out of her reach as she made a fervent grab for it.
"Ah, ah, not so fast," he grinned, waving an impish finger at her. "If I'm not allowed to see the dress, then you're not allowed to see the ring!"
"Oh, you're so perfectly horrid!" Lucy pretended to whine.
All this time, Terence remained where he was, feeling somehow detached from the rest of this lot, as though a wall stood between them.
No one, not even Tumnus, his own brother, seemed aware of him anymore; when the young man ultimately turned to leave the room, no one appeared to notice, or care.
Terence slowly made his way through the corridors of the castle, with his head hanging lower than usual. Everywhere he went, there was always someone preparing in some way for the grand event. Enormous banners of various colors graced almost every wall; there were flowers all over the place, and heavenly smells from the kitchen flooded the air. No one looked once in Terence's direction as he passed them by, never once asked for the man's opinion on anything. He may as well have been invisible.
Once, when he came across a pair of badgers struggling to hang up a streamer, he stopped briefly upon hearing the argument they were currently waging. "No, no, no!" one badger was saying crossly to the other. "You don't hang it that way; it looks all lopsided! How many times do I have to tell you? Both sides must be at the exact same level!"
"Fine, then," his companion shot back, "if you think you're so clever, you do it yourself!"
Terence couldn't repress a small smile at the absurdity of these two. It was funny, how big a fuss was made over the littlest, simplest things, when putting a wedding together. Something was not right here, something was not right there. Did this fit, which color went best with the eyes, should the sandwiches be cut into squares or triangles…it was all pandemonium.
Terence's face quickly fell again, and he sighed heavily.
Imagine, he thought, his Tumnus and his Lucy…his two oldest and best friends in Narnia…soon to be husband and wife. It almost didn't seem real. Already, Terence could see Tumnus with his bride on their special day: embracing her, kissing her, bathing her face with his own tears, dancing around passionately with her in the middle of the big ballroom.
And where is my bride? Terence thought despondently. Where is my special day?
There was once a time, not so long ago, when Terence was about to be married himself. There was a time when he was once affianced to a beautiful woman—Rhiella, the most charming, most extraordinary girl Terence had ever had the privilege of knowing. Terence remembered everything, as if it were all but yesterday. He remembered how he would hold Rhiella in his arms, no different from the way Tumnus held Lucy; he could still taste her kiss, feel the warmth of her skin against his. He remembered the night he first asked for Rhiella's hand, and how he'd felt when she said yes. It was like they were the only two people alive in the universe, and all the stars had rained down from heaven, into Terence's heart.
But then something went wrong between him and Rhiella, terribly wrong—and they ended up breaking apart before they were even married. Now, Terence was all alone.
What had happened was an awful memory he did not wish to remember, and it left a tender, oozing wound on his heart that had yet to fully heal.
He knew he would never find another girl like Rhiella. He could certainly never love another girl the way he had loved (and still loved) her.
There was a time when Terence briefly thought he might have a chance with Lucy; but, of course, when it became apparent that Lucy's heart belonged to Tumnus, that dream died quickly.
Terence knew he should be happy for Tumnus and Lucy, that he shouldn't be so jealous and melancholy, but he couldn't help it.
Every time he saw his friends together—for that matter, every time he saw a happy, loving couple—it cut him like a knife. Sometimes, he did manage to go for a few days without even thinking about Rhiella, or about love at all. But then it would always come up and hit him full-force, like a kick in the guts, like a bucket of ice-cold water hurled into his face.
And though Terence knew Tumnus and Lucy would never do such a thing, a small, selfish part of him couldn't help but think they were rubbing all this in his face.
They had each other, while he had no one, and they were going out of their way to show it…Terence shook his head to rid himself of the idea, and gave his own face a mild slap.
Don't be an idiot, he scolded himself. You know Tumnus and Lucy better than that! It's not their fault that life has been so generous to them. Some people simply have better luck than others.
Indeed, Tumnus and Lucy had been very fortunate to have discovered one another. Terence wondered if either of them had any idea just how fortunate they truly were. What the young man wouldn't give to have what they had, to have the same opportunity they had. As chaotic as it was putting everything together for the festivities, Terence wished he could be going through this same chaos, for his own wedding. Above all, he yearned for that special someone, someone to have and to hold for time and all eternity, someone to lie with, to raise a family with.
For a fleeting second, Terence envisioned himself with his son, or his daughter. In his mind's eye, the white-haired youth saw his child of his own flesh and blood running eagerly to him, and he saw himself catching them and scooping them up into his loving arms. He could almost hear that sweet voice calling him "Father", or "Papa"; he imagined kissing them, spinning them around in circles, reading them stories on his knee, tucking them into bed at night and holding their little hand while they dreamed sweet dreams.
But, of course, this was only a dream, and nothing more. And when the moment passed and the spell had broken, reality struck with the force of a brick wall.
Burning disappointment scorched Terence's throat like fire. He could feel an almost unbearable weight press down on his chest.
Fearful that he would dissolve into tears on the spot, the young man hastily resumed walking. He did not look where he was going, and very nearly ran into one of the other fauns of the Cair, who was carrying something in a large box. The faun gave such a start at Terence's unexpected emergence that he came dangerously close to dropping his load. Fortunately, he saved the box and its contents before everything could crash to the floor. He immediately narrowed his eyes at Terence, and flattened his long ears in irritation.
"Terence," he said, none too tactfully, "why do you always have to be in the way? Would you kindly watch where you are going?"
"I'm sorry," said Terence meekly.
"In case it hasn't occurred to you, we're on a very tight schedule here," the faun said brusquely. "We can't afford to dilly-dally about the castle. Either you will help us, or you will stand clear."
With that, he brushed past Terence and marched off, taking his load with him.
Terence watched him leave, and, now feeling humiliated as well as heartbroken, the youth turned and went silently on his own way, with his head hanging to his chest.
Eventually, Terence sought refuge in a small, private room. It was there that he came across old Beaver, who was poring over an open book at a small table.
When Beaver lifted his eyes and saw Terence come in, he smiled and greeted the youth congenially, "Hello, Terence!"
"Hello, Beaver," Terence murmured quietly.
"What are you doing here, boy? Why aren't you out lending a hand with the preparations for the wedding?"
"I'm just in everybody's way," said Terence dejectedly, as he took a seat in one of the spare chairs.
A wry smile crossed Beaver's hairy brown face, which was just starting to show some hints of gray. "I hear you there, mate. Thought I'd make a temporary escape meself, but it's near impossible to get a moment's peace around here these days. The whole castle is going stark raving mad about the fast-approaching nuptials. The women are the worst."
He shook his head. "Every time you turn around—roses, orchids, white, lavender, mild, spicy, too long, too short, yes to this, no to that—it's a nightmare."
"Maybe Tumnus and Lucy ought to save themselves the trouble, and just elope."
"What," Beaver said, now looking and sounding surprisingly jovial, "and spoil all the fun?"
Terence said nothing to this, but leaned forward and, with a sigh, dropped his head into his hands. Beaver's mischievous grin quickly vanished when he sensed the man's distress.
"Hey, you all right? What is it, Terence?"
Without looking up, Terence mumbled, "Nothing. I'm fine."
Beaver, of course, never bought that for a minute.
"Come, now, my boy," he insisted, "what's the matter? For someone whose best mate is getting hitched, you look like you may as well be at a funeral."
Very slowly, Terence withdrew his hands and looked up. Even with the youth's disheveled white locks trailing in his face, as they always did, Beaver could very clearly make out the sorrow and bereavement in his companion's eyes. The sight melted his heart. "Terence, please," he said, on the verge of pleading, "talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."
Terence averted his gaze.
"I'm sorry, Beaver," he answered forlornly. "It's just that…" He paused to catch his breath. "It's just that it's hard for me to go through this, to see Tumnus and Lucy so happy together."
"What do you mean? Tumnus is your friend, isn't he? You two have been the closest of anyone I had ever known. Surely, you ought to be the happiest for him out of all of us."
Immediately, Terence was ashamed of himself, and he didn't hesitate to apologize. "Forgive me, Beaver. I—I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Of course, I'm happy for Tumnus. I—I'm glad that he's found someone, and if anyone must marry him, I'm glad that it's Lucy." He let out another long, heavy sigh, and shook his head ruefully. "Still…I can't help but envy those two. Whenever I see them hugging or kissing, or holding hands, or just smiling at each other, it stirs up painful memories for me."
"Painful memories?" Beaver repeated incredulously.
"And it's not just Tumnus and Lucy alone," Terence continued. "Whenever I see a happy couple these days, it reminds me of what I once had myself…what I could have had."
Realizing what Terence was getting at, Beaver's face softened, and his heart swelled with compassion.
"Oh," he said in a hushed voice. "I see…I see."
At that time, unbeknownst to them, Tumnus himself was just walking by.
As the faun passed the door to the room in which Terence and Beaver resided (which, conveniently enough, had been left ajar), he halted in his tracks upon catching what was being said. He stood silent for a moment, his ears pricked. When he recognized Terence's voice, he edged closer to the gap in the door so he could listen better.
"Tumnus and Lucy don't know how lucky they are, Beaver," Terence was saying fervently. "I would give anything to be where they are right now. Anything."
These words touched Tumnus's heart, and his whole body became as still as stone.
The faun knew his mate to be a prankster…but the young man could definitely be very serious, too. This proved it.
"Don't worry, Terence," Beaver's gentle, gravelly voice replied. "You'll find someone. One day, someday, you will get your chance, too."
"I don't know, Beaver," Terence said, sounding hopeless. "Love hurts too much…especially when it is gone. I have already undergone the loss twice; I don't think I could bear it a third time."
Tears sprang to Tumnus's eyes as he listened, and he felt his heart break for his poor, sweet friend. At the same time, Terence had his face buried in his hands again. At this, Beaver cautiously made his way to the floor and shuffled up to him. Beaver laid a forepaw against Terence's knee, wanting to say something to comfort him but at a loss of what he could say.
By the time Terence finally looked up again, he whispered once more, "I'm sorry, Beaver. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be, Terence," Beaver assured him, giving his knee a light, kind pat.
"I don't mean to be such a killjoy," said Terence contritely, "to dump my personal miseries on you. This is supposed to be a happy, exciting time for everyone…and I have no right to spoil it."
"And no one deserves to feel unhappy, or cut off from the crowd," Beaver countered. "That includes you, my boy."
Despite the way he was feeling, the faintest traces of a smile graced Terence's lips. "Thank you, Beaver," he said sincerely. "That's very kind of you to say."
He paused, before adding on, "And thank you, for listening to me. It's good to know at least someone around here is willing to put up with me, and cares about what I feel inside."
Beaver said nothing, but he smiled at Terence, and offered a benevolent nod.
Tumnus, on the other hand, felt nothing short of terrible. How was it that he could have been so heedless, so negligent of Terence's feelings? Had he gotten so caught up in his own wishes that he completely disregarded Terence's needs? Terence was his best friend; he should have been aware of what the young man was going through right from the start.
Aside from guilt for giving his mate the cold shoulder, Tumnus also felt guilty about having love in his life, about being with Lucy while Terence remained alone in the shadows. It wasn't enough to make him reconsider his actual marriage to Lucy, but it did bring the tears trickling down his cheeks to think about Terence being entirely on his own. Tumnus knew from experience just how awful it was to be lonely. It twisted the faun's heart to think about Terence discovering true love, and then having that love slip away from him, like grains of sand swept by the wind. While Tumnus knew next to nothing about this Rhiella Terence used to know, he did recall Terence mentioning her at least once, maybe twice. Terence never went into a lot of detail about her, but it was evident that the girl meant a great deal to him. She had to have been exceptionally special, if Terence was so broken up about her, even now.
Tumnus wished there was something he could do for Terence, something to help raise his spirits.
He knew he couldn't work miracles; he could never bring Rhiella back to Terence (he didn't know where she lived, what she looked like, or whether she was already married, or even still living), but he longed to do something that would remind Terence that he cared about him, that, as heavy as the young man's burden was, he didn't have to bear it by himself.
Like Beaver said, no one deserved to be unhappy; no one deserved to face the world alone.
That same day, Terence sat outside in one of the Cair's courtyards, on one of the low stone benches overshadowed by a towering juniper tree. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, so that everything around him remained dark and cool. He couldn't stay in that castle for another minute. But even out here, in the fresh air, somehow he just couldn't get her out of his mind—no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried. Trying to forget about Rhiella was like trying to ignore a limb that had been severed from the rest of his body.
In a way, he felt like a part of him had been cut off, simply hacked off and thrown away to rot and die, while the rest of him was left to bleed. Oh, Rhiella, Terence thought mournfully, face still pressed to his palms, I need you. I would willingly give up the world just to have you here with me. Oh, my sweet one, why did we ever have to say goodbye? Why?
"Terence?" a gentle voice spoke nearby.
Terence did not have to look up to see who it was that addressed him. He would know Tumnus's voice anywhere.
The white-haired youth did not budge from that spot, nor did he answer or acknowledge his mate in any way, but only sank his face further into his palms. He heard the soft rustle of the grass as Tumnus tentatively approached him, and he felt Tumnus settle next to him on the bench. Tumnus dared to lay a hand on Terence's shoulder. Terence did not try to shrug the faun off, but he resolutely kept his head down, kept his face hidden from view. Tumnus ran his hand slowly and soothingly up and down Terence's shoulder, all over his back. "You all right, mate?"
"I'm all right, Tumnus," Terence mumbled into his palms.
Tumnus knew just the opposite was true. He said so out loud. "No, you're not. I know that you're not."
This finally convinced Terence to take his hands away, and look up fully into Tumnus's face.
"How do you know what I'm feeling?" he questioned the faun.
"No need to keep up the charade, Terence. I heard you with my own ears."
Realizing what Tumnus was saying, Terence felt the color drain from his face, and his heart sank to the soles of his boots.
"You—you heard me talking to Beaver today? You heard everything?"
"I heard enough."
Feeling mortified, Terence promptly bent over and hid his face again, this time in his arms, now folded over his knees. "Oh, Tumnus…I'm sorry," he groaned. "I shouldn't have…"
"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," said Tumnus solemnly, his hand still resting on the young man's back.
Stunned, unsure of whether his ears were deceiving him, Terence very slowly raised his head again and straightened his posture somewhat to stare disbelievingly at his mate.
"You're sorry? For what?"
Tumnus did not answer right away, but went on massaging Terence's back, his fingers making random designs.
At length, the faun said, "I'm sorry I haven't been very considerate of you lately, Terence. I'm sorry I haven't really taken the time to talk to you, to listen to you and understand your feelings, your true feelings. I'm sorry I've been so caught up in this wedding that I have, more or less, overlooked you."
"But it's your wedding, mate. Of course, you'd be caught up in everything! This is about you and Lucy; you shouldn't have to worry about me."
"Even a wedding is no excuse for slighting a friend, Terence…and a very good friend, at that. No one should be left out, least of all you. Lucy may be my bride, but you're my brother. Just because I love and care deeply about Lucy doesn't mean you're any less important to me, yourself. And I'm sorry if that's the way I made you feel, in whatever manner."
Terence felt his heart twist and his stomach churn, for he recognized some truth in the faun's words, and he bowed his head in shame and embarrassment once more.
"I'm sorry about Rhiella, too," Tumnus continued solicitously, as he absently threaded his fingers through Terence's thick hair. "Whoever she was, you must have truly loved her."
"I'd give my life for her," Terence said.
Tumnus now wrapped his arm entirely around his companion and pulled him a little closer to his side, giving Terence what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. "I wish I could have met Rhiella," the faun said, his voice quiet, and exceptionally gentle. "She sounds very sweet, and truly remarkable. She had to have been, to have captured your heart like this."
Terence just couldn't believe he and Tumnus were referring to Rhiella in the past tense. It was as if she no longer existed.
Rather than giving him comfort, Tumnus's words only caused fresh pain to stab at his heart. Terence found himself teetering on the edge of crying, but he resolutely blinked back the tears that invaded his eyes, and forced down the hard lump that blocked his throat. The last thing he needed was to get all syrupy in front of Tumnus.
"I'm sure this big event must be especially hard for you," Tumnus continued. "I'm really sorry, Terence. Truly, I am."
Almost as an afterthought, he added tentatively, "We don't mean to make you feel worse…to make it look like we're rubbing this in your face."
Terence didn't need to ask who Tumnus meant by "we"; he got the picture perfectly.
"I know you're not," the young man said, his voice weak and thick with emotion. "But this…this brings everything rushing back to me. It takes me back to…to that time…when I was hers…and she was mine…a-and we made the same promise to each other…and we came so close…so close…"
He could not go on; the pain was just too much to bear.
"Hey, hey," Tumnus crooned softly, not unlike the way Lucy once crooned to him, as Terence lost the battle and started weeping bitterly. Terence's hands flew up once again to hide his tears and suppress his sobs, and Tumnus now wrapped him in both arms and held him like a child. At a loss of all else, the grief-stricken youth sagged heavily against the faun's front, wailing like a lost soul. Everything he had kept bottled up inside for the longest time came flooding out of him all at once. It was as if a dam had burst, giving access to the flow. Tumnus stayed with Terence and cradled him the whole time he wept, rocking him, caressing him, bestowing a brotherly kiss on his crown every now and again, even shedding a few tears with him.
Neither of the two knew how long they sat there and wept together, but it must have been a good half-hour, at least; maybe an hour.
When, in the end, Terence couldn't cry anymore, and Tumnus eased his grip on him a little, Terence found he was too ashamed to look Tumnus in the eye.
After a moment, however, Tumnus's hand slid beneath the boy's chin and slowly tilted it upward, gently forcing Terence to lift his face.
"There, now," Tumnus said, as he brushed away Terence's tears for him, "that's done you some good, hasn't it?"
Terence had to admit he did feel a little better, after a good cry.
It didn't mean he was as good as new, but it felt like something poisonous had been purged from him. The pain still lingered, but the tears had helped to dull the sharp edges.
"Thanks, mate," Terence said with a sniff, and he meant what he said. Tumnus relinquished his hold completely and drew back, giving Terence a bit more personal space, and Terence managed to sit up a little taller. He tried to push his long, thick bangs back from his eyes, but, as always, his hair came spilling back down.
The young men sat in silence for the next few minutes, pulling themselves together. Eventually, Tumnus was the first to speak. "Terence?"
"Hmm?"
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"What?"
"Well, Lucy and I have been talking lately about the possibility of children…"
"Children?" Terence echoed, taken aback. "You and Lucy haven't even said 'I do' yet!"
Tumnus laughed at his friend's dumbstruck expression, and gave him a playful nudge. "No, really, Terence. What I mean is, when the time comes for Lucy and I to have children—assuming we're ever blessed with children, after we are officially husband and wife—we should appoint someone as the legitimate guardian of those children. A godparent, so to speak."
"Godparent?" Terence repeated the word like it was foreign.
"If, Aslan forbid, something should happen to Lucy or me, or the both of us, we will need someone to look out for our children; to raise them, care for them, and protect them from harm. That person will take part in the children's overall upbringing. I've had a little talk with Lucy today, and we would like to appoint you as the godfather."
"Me?" If Terence was stunned before, he was now totally knocked for a loop. "You want me to be the godfather, to your children?"
"If you agree to it."
"You're kidding," said Terence, almost dazedly. Surely, the faun had to be pulling his leg.
"No, I'm not," Tumnus replied, keeping an absolutely straight face.
"You want me—of all people—to be the one in charge of your children? Your own flesh and blood?"
"Why not? I believe there is no one in Narnia, or in all the world, better suited for such a position than you. Lucy thinks so, too."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
Staring into Tumnus's china-blue eyes, Terence saw the faun was dead serious. Tumnus never turned his head, in either direction, nor did his gaze waver.
Terence's mind was spinning a mile a second. Him, a godfather! Tumnus and Lucy giving him the legal custody of their offspring, their future posterity. He couldn't believe it.
He just couldn't believe his friends would trust him with such a responsibility. It was as if he had been struck dumb.
Tumnus smiled warmly at his brother, and his hand came to rest on Terence's shoulder one more time. "So, what do you say, mate? Do you agree?"
After a minute or so more, the shock slowly faded, and Terence felt his heart swell with gratitude and joy, even as he was dragged down into the furthermost depths of humility.
With his eyes brimming afresh, the white-haired youth responded with a tremulous: "It would be an honor, Tumnus."
It was now his turn to pull Tumnus into a tight embrace, and this time he shed tears of joy. Tumnus willingly returned Terence's impassioned hug, new tears flowing down his skin as well.
"Thank you," Terence whispered fervently into his brother's neck. "Thank you…"
He did not know whether Tumnus heard him, but the faun must have understood, for he held Terence tighter, and his forehead came to rest on Terence's shoulder.
There they remained, their tears merging once again, to form a single stream of love and friendship.
While Terence still missed Rhiella dreadfully, and he knew he would always feel her absence like a hole in his heart, Tumnus had given him something to hold onto—something to believe in. Both Tumnus and Lucy had helped to fill in some of that gaping emptiness inside him, to bring a little ray of light into the darkness; for that, Terence was inexpressibly grateful.
He promised himself there and then that he would not fail the great trust placed in him, that he would be the very best godfather anybody ever had in the history of the world.