THE PRODIGAL
Like they say, what goes up must come down. This is where we learn what ultimately happens to Puck, and what he ultimately decides to do.
You can likely guess what's going to happen, but you probably want to read it, anyway. So, here you go!
Characters (with exceptions) © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media
Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
Part 5
As it turned out, Puck never truly got around to expanding his affluence, and making something useful of his life. In the three years that the young, profligate faun was away from home, he somehow allowed his money to slip right through his fingers, wasting nearly every coin on excessive and licentious living. Before he or anyone else knew it, he was up to his ears in debts—far bigger and more grievous debts than he had the legitimate funds to pay. Within no time at all, Puck was completely broke. He had not even so much as a penny left to spare.
When his so-called "friends" discovered that the faun was no longer the wealthy, carefree, happy-go-lucky youth they once took him for, they all promptly turned their backs on him, leaving him in the lurch. Puck now found himself entirely alone, without a home, without friends, without money…without anything.
No longer could the poor lad provide for himself, neither could he find the nerve to return home to Cair Paravel. How could he face his father? He had wasted everything he had been given. His father had trusted him, granted him an opportunity—and he'd failed him. What would all the others say if they saw him now? Puck didn't think he could bear the shame of it.
And so, the faun had to resign himself to begging for his food.
His stomach seemed to never stop grinding, and he was lucky to obtain anything he could actually digest. Very few people would have anything to do with him. With every day, Puck only grew thinner, weaker, shabbier, and more forlorn. His hair and beard were wild and unkempt, his fur was scruffy, his face was filthy, and he smelled like the bottom of a compost heap.
It was incredible how dramatic a change had come over the boy.
One day, too weak and too miserable to go anywhere (not that he had anywhere to go), Puck sat alone on the cold, hard ground, just outside a tavern. Ironically enough, it was the very same tavern he had once gone into, where he'd turned into such a crude, gluttonous, drunken, foulmouthed rogue. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his father would have died if he had seen him like that. In utter shame, Puck bent his head and buried his face in his hands, not even bothering to fight the tears as they came.
"What have I become?" the wretched youth groaned aloud to himself, his voice muffled by his palms. "What's happened to me? What was I thinking? Everything my father warned me about has come true. Everything everyone else back home had said about me is true; I didn't know how to do anything. I should have stayed in Narnia, where I belonged. I wanted to be rich, free, and independent. Now, look where I've ended up. This is my fault. It's all my fault…" His voice broke, and he sank his face deeper into his palms and sobbed bitterly.
What a sad, pathetic creature he was. He had failed at everything. He could not think of a single thing he did right, since he first ran away.
How Puck wished he could die. He wished he could somehow drop dead, at that very spot, and be out of his misery. There was nothing left in his life that was worth living for.
Life at Cair Paravel was certainly better than this, even for the lowliest of the servants. Even Terence fared much better than Puck did.
This made Puck pause, and think a moment.
Why not? Why not earn his keep as a servant, at the Cair?
It was better than simply wandering about, dirty and dismal, and slowly starving to death. The more Puck thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him.
Yes…yes, that's what he would do. He was no longer worthy to be considered Tumnus's son, but he could live as Tumnus's servant. And he would work hard, give nothing less of his very best efforts, to rightfully earn every bite of food. Puck didn't care what everyone else would say or think about him; it didn't matter.
He'd already gone about as low as he or anyone could possibly go. No one could make him feel worse than he already felt. No one could hate him more than he hated himself.
So, with that in mind, Puck climbed resolutely to his hooves, and made the long, slow, difficult journey home.