Chapter Text
“Oh, those rotten wolves!” Lucy grumbled, picking her way through the debris scattered across the floor of Mr. Tumnus’s cave. The floor was damp, most likely still thanks to the melting snows that accompanied the White Witch’s defeat a few weeks earlier. She picked up a very old-looking, leatherbound book from a puddle it had been lying in. “Oh dear. I’m afraid this one might be ruined.”
Mr. Tumnus trotted over, heels clopping on the stone floor of the cave. “So it would seem,” he sighed, turning the book over in his hands. He opened the cover and started to flip the pages, but they stuck together in a clump, reluctant to turn. Gently, he peeled some of them apart, only to find the ink between them runny and illegible. “Well, that’s alright. I didn’t like this one much anyways. Fungi of the Northern Marches . Bit of a dry read.”
Lucy giggled. “Well, that may be so, but I’m still sorry it’s ruined. Someone worked hard on it once upon a time, and they at least cared enough about… well, mushrooms to write it in the first place.”
Mr. Tumnus smiled fondly down at her. “That’s a lovely way to look at it. But still, at least the books ruined seem to be mostly about things like foreign mushrooms and seafaring tactics of the Telmarines than my favorite subjects.”
“What are your favorite subjects?” Edmund asked from across the room, where he was sweeping up the shattered remnants of a tea set.
“Oh, anything historical,” Mr. Tumnus mused, tossing the book into a growing pile of rubbish near the doorway. “Genealogies, histories, that sort of thing. Linguistics are fascinating, as well. And fiction has always been one of my favorite genres. I always loved the adventures. Fables, fairy tales, legends. Even prophecies. And poetry, of course, or recorded songs.”
“So, pretty much everything?” Edmund teased.
“Yes, my king,” Mr. Tumnus gave him a short, teasing bow. “A little bit of everything.”
Edmund laughed and returned to his sweeping, Lucy went back to sorting through books, and Mr. Tumnus began packing up his scarves. It had been decided that, as one of the chief advisors to the kings and queens (and one of the youngest queen’s dearest friends), he should move to Cair Paravel, at least for the majority of the time. Mr. Tumnus himself had made the suggestion, and, once Peter had offered him a formal invitation, preparations were made to return to his old cave and collect the possessions he wished to bring with him to his new home. That was how the three of them had wound up in the cave today; a procession had set out from Cair Paravel the morning before, and they had spent the night camped in the forest before continuing to Mr. Tumnus’s home and the Beavers’ dam. Edmund, Lucy, and Tumnus had broken off from the main column of the parade to make for the cave, while the rest, including Peter and Susan, had continued to the dam, to help with repairs there, at Badger’s house, and at the homes of other less-than-fortunate creatures in the area who had been attacked by the Witch and her wolves before Aslan’s return.
Edmund took a step back and felt his foot hit something small, light, and wooden, sending it skittering across the floor. He chased after it and picked it up. It was a set of wooden pipes, all different lengths and bound together with twine. “What’s this?” he held it up to show Mr. Tumnus.
“Oh! My pipes!” the faun squealed excitedly, scurrying over to Edmund’s side. “Oh, good; they’re not broken!” He blew across the top, and soft musical notes sounded. “Out of tune, though, I’m afraid.” He sighed and crossed back to the box he had been filling with scarves, packing the pipe carefully in with them.
“Oh, that’s sad,” Lucy sighed. “I would have loved to hear you play some music again.”
Mr. Tumnus smiled at her. “Well, my flute should be around here somewhere. If we can find that, and if it’s in good enough shape, we’ll just have to take a break to have some music.”
“Yay!” Lucy cheered, returning to her task with renewed vigor.
The others followed her example, and together they made quick work of the majority of the mess. Scarves and a few blankets and pillows, along with the books in the best shape, were packed into boxes and chests to take back to the castle. The broken dishes, ruined books, ripped paintings, tattered fabric items, and anything else broken, water-stained, or otherwise destroyed went into a sadly large pile near the door. Most of it--anything wooden, paper, or cloth--would be burned, but they weren’t quite sure what to do with the broken glass and ceramic pieces.
It was towards the end of the day that Lucy finally found the forked flute, halfway under a bookshelf in the corner of the main room. “Mr. Tumnus, look!” she cried, pulling it out and running across the room to show him.
“Oh, wonderful!” the faun sang out, his hooves clicking on the stone floor as he did a happy little jig. “And not broken, either.” He blew experimentally into the mouthpiece and a low, clear note sounded. He played a little riff, fingers fluttering up and down the pipes.
“Beautiful!” Lucy cheered, hands clasped in wonder.
Mr. Tumnus chuckled. He gave her a warm smile, and then began to play a tune. It was simple and sweet, lilting and happy. Even Edmund stopped what he was doing to listen, and found that he couldn’t help but smile at the music.
After Tumnus finished playing, they made quick work of the rest of the cave, and soon were standing near the door, surveying the freshly-cleaned space.
“Well, it certainly looks much better now!” Lucy beamed.
“Yes, it does,” Tumnus smiled happily. “I’m certainly glad I had the two of you to help clean it up. That made everything go much more quickly!”
“Well, considering it was my fault it got destroyed in the first place, I figured helping fix it back up was the least I could do,” Edmund joked.
Tumnus rested a hand on his shoulder. “You know I don’t blame you for that at all, your majesty. The Witch tricked you, and it wasn’t your fault in the least.”
Edmund smiled up at the faun. I don’t understand how he could forgive me so easily, after everything I did, but I’m still grateful for it. “Thank you, Mr. Tumnus.”
The faun nodded firmly. “Now! We’re supposed to meet your brother and sister and the others at the Beavers’ dam! Let’s get going, or we’ll miss dinner.”
They all stepped outside and Mr. Tumnus closed the wooden door that one of the centaurs had helped put back on its hinges that morning. Once it was closed and locked, he turned around, tucked the flute under his arm, and held his hands out to the children. “Shall we?”
“Yes, let’s!” Lucy giggled, taking one of his hands.
Edmund rolled his eyes, but smiled and took the faun’s other hand, and together they headed for the dam.