1. Beginnings
Title: Beginnings
Fandom: Narnia
Rating: G (PG for faun nudity? lol)
Standard Disclaimer Applies
Lucy squirmed in her chair, grinning. Menthe and Laurel laughed with her. The two fauns had been her handmaidens for the last eight years, and their laughter often mingled. Occasionally, they would all be overcome by high spirits - usually led by the faun, but not always - bounding into the air and around the room in a mad dash before settling once more to dressing or fixing Lucy’s hair. Susan and Peter were often disapproving of Lucy’s choice of maids, as much for their choice to dress, as fauns always did, in nothing more than neckwear, as for their rambunctious behavior, but Lucy put her foot down sternly anytime the topic came up.
There was a knock on the door and a tapping of hooves and Mr. Tumnus entered. He had a bundle of letters in his hand, and after his very proper bow, his eyes remained on them.
“Good morning, Queen Lucy,” Tumnus said his in low, gruff voice. She could not make him call her Lucy, for he said it was not proper, but at least she was not “your majesty” to him, as the others were. “More responses to your invitations. It seems your sixteenth birthday party will be at least as large as your sister’s!”
“And a masquerade! Isn’t it fun to pretend to be something you aren’t, Mr. Tumnus?”
Lucy turned to look at Laurel. The faun’s pointed features were turned up in a sly little smile that Lucy did not entirely like, her head tilted to one side, a finger at her lips.
Mr. Tumnus ducked his head slightly, his dark green scarf bunching up on one shoulder. “I’m sure it will be lovely,” he murmured without raising his eyes.
Laurel shrugged and tossed her head, an action which caused her small, strawberry-pointed breasts to quiver. “I wonder what Mr. Tumnus will dress up as, don’t you, Queen Lucy?”
Lucy lit up, turning to Tumnus with a grin. “Well, I hadn’t even thought about it! What will you wear, Mr. Tumnus?”
Tumnus looked flustered, tugging on his little beard and stammering, shuffling his hooves with little ticking sounds against the stone floors. Before he could actually speak though, Laurel’s hands landed on Lucy’s shoulders. The bright-eyed faun leaned close so that she could whisper, loudly enough so that the sound carried through the room.
“Maybe he’ll dress up as a Son of Adam! Wouldn’t that be fitting?” Laurel’s titter seemed as sharp as glass. “He could cover up his legs with trousers and boots, and even put on a shirt, a cape… maybe cover his horns with a hat! But that wouldn’t really be much of a disguise, would it Tumnus?”
Lucy was unable to help it - she gave a sudden laugh at the thought. Tumnus, dressed up as a man! She could not fathom the idea, a faun wearing pants, wearing boots? Not even for a masquerade could she imagine it!
Tumnus’ shoulders stiffened as though he’d been slapped. He leaned forward just enough to gently place the letters onto the edge of Lucy’s vanity, gave a tiny, but still quite correct, bow, and then stalked away. He walked as though his hooves were tender and hurt him when he put them down. He walked as though he expected an arrow in the back.
“Tumnus wait!” she called after him, but the door was already closing.
“Why do you tease him so?” Menthe asked Laurel, giving the other faun’s arm a hard shake.
Laurel tossed her head again, still laughing. “He’s just not a proper faun, Menthe! I can’t help it!”
“Not proper?” Lucy was astonished, and the two fauns turned to her as if only just remembering she was there. “Not proper? Tumnus? He’s the most proper person I’ve ever met!” And it was true… even when he had been planning to kidnap her for the White Witch; he had still given her tea and cakes.
“A proper faun, Queen Lucy,” Menthe said gently, shaking her head. “Which is really quite different than being a proper Son of Adam? Sometimes it seems as though Tumnus… regrets what he is.”
“He never comes to revels,” Laurel said, ticking off on her slender brown fingers. “He never dances with us. He never drinks wine - he never drinks anything stronger than tea! All he does is fetch and carry here, and then go home and read books and shut himself away!” Her mouth twisted. “And of course, he never, ever touches any of us.”
Lucy folded her hands, eyes round and upset. “How terrible,” she said. “How terrible! He must still feel so guilty about… about what happened before. About the Witch.” She had told him one thousand times that he was not to think on such things anymore, and each time his wan smile told her that he would still continue to do so.
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” Menthe said, nodding. “But really, aren’t you starting to run late, Queen Lucy? Your hair is finished, and the Kings and Queen Susan will surely start to wonder where you are.”
“Part of it?” Lucy tilted her head curiously.
Laurel gave her an incredulous look, brown doe’s eyes round with surprise. “Don’t you know? Do you really not know? Someone who’s in love with a Daughter of Eve would naturally--”
“Enough of that!” Menthe spoke sharply, and took Laurel’s arm again. She gave Queen Lucy a quick bow, and then departed the room, dragging Laurel along behind her. The sharp clipping of their hooves was cut off by the thud of the door. Like Tumnus, Menthe had not heeded Lucy’s cry for them to stop.
Lucy sat in her chair, the letters Tumnus brought scattered across her vanity, cheeks flushed. Laurel’s words rang in her head… and more than that, the line of Tumnus’ spine as he left. That hurt look. And the beauty of him. The bright and somehow damaged beauty of him.
That was the beginning.
Fandom: Narnia
Rating: G (PG for faun nudity? lol)
Standard Disclaimer Applies
Lucy squirmed in her chair, grinning. Menthe and Laurel laughed with her. The two fauns had been her handmaidens for the last eight years, and their laughter often mingled. Occasionally, they would all be overcome by high spirits - usually led by the faun, but not always - bounding into the air and around the room in a mad dash before settling once more to dressing or fixing Lucy’s hair. Susan and Peter were often disapproving of Lucy’s choice of maids, as much for their choice to dress, as fauns always did, in nothing more than neckwear, as for their rambunctious behavior, but Lucy put her foot down sternly anytime the topic came up.
There was a knock on the door and a tapping of hooves and Mr. Tumnus entered. He had a bundle of letters in his hand, and after his very proper bow, his eyes remained on them.
“Good morning, Queen Lucy,” Tumnus said his in low, gruff voice. She could not make him call her Lucy, for he said it was not proper, but at least she was not “your majesty” to him, as the others were. “More responses to your invitations. It seems your sixteenth birthday party will be at least as large as your sister’s!”
“And a masquerade! Isn’t it fun to pretend to be something you aren’t, Mr. Tumnus?”
Lucy turned to look at Laurel. The faun’s pointed features were turned up in a sly little smile that Lucy did not entirely like, her head tilted to one side, a finger at her lips.
Mr. Tumnus ducked his head slightly, his dark green scarf bunching up on one shoulder. “I’m sure it will be lovely,” he murmured without raising his eyes.
Laurel shrugged and tossed her head, an action which caused her small, strawberry-pointed breasts to quiver. “I wonder what Mr. Tumnus will dress up as, don’t you, Queen Lucy?”
Lucy lit up, turning to Tumnus with a grin. “Well, I hadn’t even thought about it! What will you wear, Mr. Tumnus?”
Tumnus looked flustered, tugging on his little beard and stammering, shuffling his hooves with little ticking sounds against the stone floors. Before he could actually speak though, Laurel’s hands landed on Lucy’s shoulders. The bright-eyed faun leaned close so that she could whisper, loudly enough so that the sound carried through the room.
“Maybe he’ll dress up as a Son of Adam! Wouldn’t that be fitting?” Laurel’s titter seemed as sharp as glass. “He could cover up his legs with trousers and boots, and even put on a shirt, a cape… maybe cover his horns with a hat! But that wouldn’t really be much of a disguise, would it Tumnus?”
Lucy was unable to help it - she gave a sudden laugh at the thought. Tumnus, dressed up as a man! She could not fathom the idea, a faun wearing pants, wearing boots? Not even for a masquerade could she imagine it!
Tumnus’ shoulders stiffened as though he’d been slapped. He leaned forward just enough to gently place the letters onto the edge of Lucy’s vanity, gave a tiny, but still quite correct, bow, and then stalked away. He walked as though his hooves were tender and hurt him when he put them down. He walked as though he expected an arrow in the back.
“Tumnus wait!” she called after him, but the door was already closing.
“Why do you tease him so?” Menthe asked Laurel, giving the other faun’s arm a hard shake.
Laurel tossed her head again, still laughing. “He’s just not a proper faun, Menthe! I can’t help it!”
“Not proper?” Lucy was astonished, and the two fauns turned to her as if only just remembering she was there. “Not proper? Tumnus? He’s the most proper person I’ve ever met!” And it was true… even when he had been planning to kidnap her for the White Witch; he had still given her tea and cakes.
“A proper faun, Queen Lucy,” Menthe said gently, shaking her head. “Which is really quite different than being a proper Son of Adam? Sometimes it seems as though Tumnus… regrets what he is.”
“He never comes to revels,” Laurel said, ticking off on her slender brown fingers. “He never dances with us. He never drinks wine - he never drinks anything stronger than tea! All he does is fetch and carry here, and then go home and read books and shut himself away!” Her mouth twisted. “And of course, he never, ever touches any of us.”
Lucy folded her hands, eyes round and upset. “How terrible,” she said. “How terrible! He must still feel so guilty about… about what happened before. About the Witch.” She had told him one thousand times that he was not to think on such things anymore, and each time his wan smile told her that he would still continue to do so.
“I’m sure that’s part of it,” Menthe said, nodding. “But really, aren’t you starting to run late, Queen Lucy? Your hair is finished, and the Kings and Queen Susan will surely start to wonder where you are.”
“Part of it?” Lucy tilted her head curiously.
Laurel gave her an incredulous look, brown doe’s eyes round with surprise. “Don’t you know? Do you really not know? Someone who’s in love with a Daughter of Eve would naturally--”
“Enough of that!” Menthe spoke sharply, and took Laurel’s arm again. She gave Queen Lucy a quick bow, and then departed the room, dragging Laurel along behind her. The sharp clipping of their hooves was cut off by the thud of the door. Like Tumnus, Menthe had not heeded Lucy’s cry for them to stop.
Lucy sat in her chair, the letters Tumnus brought scattered across her vanity, cheeks flushed. Laurel’s words rang in her head… and more than that, the line of Tumnus’ spine as he left. That hurt look. And the beauty of him. The bright and somehow damaged beauty of him.
That was the beginning.