Myths- Narnia.
pairing: tumnus/lucy.
series: the chronicles of narnia.
rated: PG13ish
notes: My first blind stab at fanfic in god knows how long and at a fandom I am not well-versed in, at that. I have fallen in love with this insane pairing. It's not as pervy as it seems. I am compelled by soulmates, no matter what time and body they may find one another in. Um, has tense problems. I call it style!
She is a Daughter of Eve. It had been many years since Tumnus had seen one in person; his father had, of course, shown him pictures of his mother, but he couldn't remember her. Her long, auburn hair, her laughing dark eyes; her bulging womb in the engravings.
"She was never afraid. She knew what could happen, but she was never happier, son. Do not trouble yourself about it, ever."
Then Tumnus had been born and in the process, his little sharp hooves had cut (though his legs were nearly boneless and it had taken him several weeks to learn to walk, afterward, no loving nudges from his dead dam) her and killed her and now, he is a man condemned, his father's hooves and his mother's heart.
She is a Daughter of Eve and he is half beast. Sometimes he feels it bubbling beneath his rational thought, perhaps it's the satyr blood; the urges that burn in his thighs to bend her over ravage spread the seed take her she's ripe for you when she grows up long and lean and coltish. His longings shake and startle him. In two hundred years there has never been a creature to bring this to the surface in him, no bedded dryad or faerie or dwarf that broadcasted so directly to his heart. He searches his tomes and endless leather-bond gilt-covered volumes for explanations, at first. When the species mix successfully the higher beings are often individually varied in their preferences, however, almost invariably they desire a mate of the same heritage one as their parents. This may be a primative calling to purify the blood and discourage such unnatural combinations.
This is of little help. So he wants her. He knows that it is impossible, because she is a Queen and his mother was just a lost little girl without any particular destiny, hundreds of years before the arrival of the Four, arriving without any special fanfare and regarded as just another magical being, the same as the rest of them. Why is it so wrong?
She is a Daughter of Eve, and he is much older than she. Yet they will die at the same time, her short life and his own lengthier one concluding together. If he found the courage...
When the creature in him is tired, or frustrated, it sends him messages: stamp, snort, buck. Lower your head. Demolish all obstacles. But the goat is also patient, unbreakable in its will, steadfast. He will control himself around her, he will be a good faun, he will not inflict himself on her as his father had his mother. Nothing good could ever result, just another lost one longing for someone they could never hope to find or love, kicking out of her belly and maybe slaying her in it's arrival.
Yet she is there. Standing before his door, cheeks pink with cold, eyes bright but softly green, like the meadows his father taught him to walk in, so lush to fall in over and over as he tripped over his knobbly knees and hooves too big and legs too long. Lost in her, in the memory, he nearly falls on her. She just smiles serenely and steps past him into his little wooded home, so neat and warm against the chill fall air. Her legs are so long and straight and like two birch trees softly dusted with freckles when they peek out through the slit up her skirts.
It makes it easier for her to ride, since she refuses the sidesaddle. Tumnus can hear her horse blow softly in the dry air outside, shuffle in the dead leaves and idlely shift the bit in his mouth. His name is James, and Tumnus was there the day his palamino mother had birthed him, had helped him take his first suckle, pushed him gently up under her warm belly, almost twenty summers past. Before she was even born. He turns to her, eyes full of sorrow, feeling his age.
She is a Daughter of Eve, and she loves him when he brings out the things so familiar from the place where she was nothing- just another girl, not a Daughter, not One, not a Queen. Just Lucy. When he makes the tea and gives her biscuits that almost taste like chocolate, though she knows they can't be. She misses chocolate, not accutely, but as something she wishes she could let him taste, experience. There is no way to describe it well enough. She spent her childhood in long afternoons and evenings, when there weren't manners lessons and propriety to be thought of, telling him about it- the other world. Bombings and crowds and elevators and trains and planes and automobiles and the wireless. She likens the latter to the ghosts, or to the trees, passing messages with the wind. These are things that he can understand- mechanics and her crude drawings. But she cannot give him the taste.
He is a Faun. She doesn't remember fauns being in her fairy tale books- Satyrs, who starred in the stories her mother ruefully skipped- Maybe when you're older, oh yes, here we are, Cinderella- but the illustrations stayed with her. The little hooves and curling horns and strange way they danced in the country fields. She'd seen goats cavorting on the hillsides during that last train ride and thought of them, had seen white horses and dreamed of unicorns. She wonders if she is merely asleep inside the wardrobe, if she has died and this is her heaven, if Aslan is God in an acceptable form to an 8 year old child, if she has just dreamed up Tumnus as the ideal love she can never have. Her eyes snake down his body and he politely fails to match her gaze.
He is a Faun, and terribly shy and ashamed at even his own existance. She has grown up watching him, gained a new appreciation and sympathy for her closest friend as she passed through the awkward years of her womanhood and adjusted to the strange new configuration of her body. Somehow her Tumnus never has grown into the pride of his form she now possesses, and it touches her heart. It feels heavy in her heart as she reaches for him. The fire flickers and he watches it while the chants rise in his mind.
She is a Daughter of Eve, and her mother was tempted by forbidden fruit. She wants to bite the apple, she wants to kiss his full lips, she wants to know what's under all that shaggy fur and she's got a look in her eyes that he's been dying to see but terrified to admit to desiring.
And now it's love and sex and lust and need and it's coursing between them like a drug in their veins as they share a body with shudders and sighs and nothing else has ever made his much sense in his life. In her life. In their lives.
series: the chronicles of narnia.
rated: PG13ish
notes: My first blind stab at fanfic in god knows how long and at a fandom I am not well-versed in, at that. I have fallen in love with this insane pairing. It's not as pervy as it seems. I am compelled by soulmates, no matter what time and body they may find one another in. Um, has tense problems. I call it style!
She is a Daughter of Eve. It had been many years since Tumnus had seen one in person; his father had, of course, shown him pictures of his mother, but he couldn't remember her. Her long, auburn hair, her laughing dark eyes; her bulging womb in the engravings.
"She was never afraid. She knew what could happen, but she was never happier, son. Do not trouble yourself about it, ever."
Then Tumnus had been born and in the process, his little sharp hooves had cut (though his legs were nearly boneless and it had taken him several weeks to learn to walk, afterward, no loving nudges from his dead dam) her and killed her and now, he is a man condemned, his father's hooves and his mother's heart.
She is a Daughter of Eve and he is half beast. Sometimes he feels it bubbling beneath his rational thought, perhaps it's the satyr blood; the urges that burn in his thighs to bend her over ravage spread the seed take her she's ripe for you when she grows up long and lean and coltish. His longings shake and startle him. In two hundred years there has never been a creature to bring this to the surface in him, no bedded dryad or faerie or dwarf that broadcasted so directly to his heart. He searches his tomes and endless leather-bond gilt-covered volumes for explanations, at first. When the species mix successfully the higher beings are often individually varied in their preferences, however, almost invariably they desire a mate of the same heritage one as their parents. This may be a primative calling to purify the blood and discourage such unnatural combinations.
This is of little help. So he wants her. He knows that it is impossible, because she is a Queen and his mother was just a lost little girl without any particular destiny, hundreds of years before the arrival of the Four, arriving without any special fanfare and regarded as just another magical being, the same as the rest of them. Why is it so wrong?
She is a Daughter of Eve, and he is much older than she. Yet they will die at the same time, her short life and his own lengthier one concluding together. If he found the courage...
When the creature in him is tired, or frustrated, it sends him messages: stamp, snort, buck. Lower your head. Demolish all obstacles. But the goat is also patient, unbreakable in its will, steadfast. He will control himself around her, he will be a good faun, he will not inflict himself on her as his father had his mother. Nothing good could ever result, just another lost one longing for someone they could never hope to find or love, kicking out of her belly and maybe slaying her in it's arrival.
Yet she is there. Standing before his door, cheeks pink with cold, eyes bright but softly green, like the meadows his father taught him to walk in, so lush to fall in over and over as he tripped over his knobbly knees and hooves too big and legs too long. Lost in her, in the memory, he nearly falls on her. She just smiles serenely and steps past him into his little wooded home, so neat and warm against the chill fall air. Her legs are so long and straight and like two birch trees softly dusted with freckles when they peek out through the slit up her skirts.
It makes it easier for her to ride, since she refuses the sidesaddle. Tumnus can hear her horse blow softly in the dry air outside, shuffle in the dead leaves and idlely shift the bit in his mouth. His name is James, and Tumnus was there the day his palamino mother had birthed him, had helped him take his first suckle, pushed him gently up under her warm belly, almost twenty summers past. Before she was even born. He turns to her, eyes full of sorrow, feeling his age.
She is a Daughter of Eve, and she loves him when he brings out the things so familiar from the place where she was nothing- just another girl, not a Daughter, not One, not a Queen. Just Lucy. When he makes the tea and gives her biscuits that almost taste like chocolate, though she knows they can't be. She misses chocolate, not accutely, but as something she wishes she could let him taste, experience. There is no way to describe it well enough. She spent her childhood in long afternoons and evenings, when there weren't manners lessons and propriety to be thought of, telling him about it- the other world. Bombings and crowds and elevators and trains and planes and automobiles and the wireless. She likens the latter to the ghosts, or to the trees, passing messages with the wind. These are things that he can understand- mechanics and her crude drawings. But she cannot give him the taste.
He is a Faun. She doesn't remember fauns being in her fairy tale books- Satyrs, who starred in the stories her mother ruefully skipped- Maybe when you're older, oh yes, here we are, Cinderella- but the illustrations stayed with her. The little hooves and curling horns and strange way they danced in the country fields. She'd seen goats cavorting on the hillsides during that last train ride and thought of them, had seen white horses and dreamed of unicorns. She wonders if she is merely asleep inside the wardrobe, if she has died and this is her heaven, if Aslan is God in an acceptable form to an 8 year old child, if she has just dreamed up Tumnus as the ideal love she can never have. Her eyes snake down his body and he politely fails to match her gaze.
He is a Faun, and terribly shy and ashamed at even his own existance. She has grown up watching him, gained a new appreciation and sympathy for her closest friend as she passed through the awkward years of her womanhood and adjusted to the strange new configuration of her body. Somehow her Tumnus never has grown into the pride of his form she now possesses, and it touches her heart. It feels heavy in her heart as she reaches for him. The fire flickers and he watches it while the chants rise in his mind.
She is a Daughter of Eve, and her mother was tempted by forbidden fruit. She wants to bite the apple, she wants to kiss his full lips, she wants to know what's under all that shaggy fur and she's got a look in her eyes that he's been dying to see but terrified to admit to desiring.
And now it's love and sex and lust and need and it's coursing between them like a drug in their veins as they share a body with shudders and sighs and nothing else has ever made his much sense in his life. In her life. In their lives.