Chapter Text
When Susan’s mother Helen was pregnant with her, she, Susan’s father and her older brother Peter travelled from where they once lived in the Lone Islands to the Western Woods, within the mainland of Narnia. They thought that it would be a better place to raise a family; they believed that the stories about Narnians in the Woods being aggressive were exaggerated. Susan has no idea why they were so sure.
Susan has good memories of her childhood. It was more peaceful in Narnia back then. Before the rules got stricter, and life got harder, when King Miraz took over, the Western Woods were charming enough. There were many Talking Beasts there, who liked to keep their distance from the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve when they could. To Susan they were no more than a bedtime story.
They lived in a two-story cottage, and although it wasn’t large, they managed, even when Edmund and Lucy came along. They would play in the woods outside, always following behind Peter, as the eldest. He was good at looking after his siblings. Even when he annoyed Susan, she knew he would keep her safe, that she could rely on him, her big brother.
She was only six when King Caspian the Ninth fell, and King Miraz took his place, a man even those from the Woods knew was cold and cruel.
Peter was young and yet, immediately after the coronation, he was taught how to use and was entrusted with a sword, with which to defend himself and his siblings. It was a hobby that should’ve been fun, if only their father didn’t constantly get upset if Peter’s ability wasn’t up to par.
“I need to know you can protect yourself, your brother and your sisters,” their father would say, almost angrily, to Peter. “This isn’t a game. Again.”
Peter would practice for hours.
The first time Susan started to get the idea that her beloved home wasn’t the sanctuary it once was, Peter was sat outside, and she went to sit with him, upon a log they often used as seating. It was warm, and they were barefoot, without coats. Peter was crying, and Susan had never really seen him cry before. She was seven. He was nine.
“Dad says I can’t protect you,” Peter said, before Susan could even ask. She was confused. She didn’t think there was anything worth fighting in their lives. “Not unless I get better. But it’s so hard, Susan. The sword is so heavy.”
She wanted to ease his burden, and so she took up archery. But she knew she could never ease the burden he felt, the weight that their father had put upon his shoulders, while meaning well. Their father was usually good, and kind. He just wanted them to be safe.
During this time, Lucy, who was so young, only two, had taken a liking to being outside. Susan would often come outside to see her sat talking to trees, which Susan didn’t understand. As she grew, she started speaking of her friends—squirrels, badgers, etc.
“The Narnians don’t like to talk to us, Lucy,” their mother would remind her, assuming that Lucy was just making things up based on the stories about the creatures who lived in the woods around them. Lucy loved those stories. She would talk of them often as she grew with a confidence beyond her years.
However, when Lucy was seven, and Susan was twelve, they would sit outside and Susan would braid daisies in Lucy’s hair. Lucy started to speak of her closest, dearest friend, Mr Tumnus. A faun, she said.
“I’m at his house when you can’t find me,” Lucy said. Susan couldn’t recall a time they were ever unable to find Lucy. Their father kept meticulous, protective track of the three youngest—allowing Peter freer rein to teach him independence. Perhaps they should’ve been concerned that their father was so well-prepared for the event of his own death, but they were too young to notice.
Regardless, Susan paid a little bit more attention to Lucy and her whereabouts after that conversation. She started to notice that on early Sunday afternoons, Lucy would often disappear. She would be back before dinner, and so Susan didn’t tell. She didn’t think she believed Lucy about her friend, but something in her became more open to the idea after that.
“I can protect us, too, you know, Dad,” Susan said one day, walking into the living room with her bow and arrow to show to him, when her parents were with Peter, who was being taught to properly sharpen his sword. The room was dim, a few lanterns and the fire keeping it warm.
“Do you truly believe you could ever aim that arrow at the heart of a living beast, Susan? A living person?” their father asked, and Susan hesitated. She’d never considered what she’d do if she was faced with a real enemy. She was only focused on whether she was able to hit a target.
“If my siblings were in danger—” Susan began, but her mother shushed her, and shook her head. Peter was looking at her very seriously. He was only fourteen.
“Leave it to your brother, Susan,” their mother said. Susan was sent upstairs to bed as Peter was lectured on how to kill a man if the situation ever arose. Susan just wanted him to feel less alone.
“They’ll never believe in you,” Edmund said, standing at the top of the stairs when she reached them. Edmund was a very intelligent child who loved to eavesdrop. He was underestimated by everybody, considered second to Peter. Nobody realised how much information he absorbed. “You have to stop waiting for them to tell you that you can. Focus only on yourself, sister.”
How wise he was. At only ten. The same boy who threw berries at her to irritate her. She knew he was talking about himself as much as he was talking about her. She hated that he felt the same pain that she did, but he never allowed himself to believe he was helpless.
“You shouldn’t eavesdrop,” Susan said, and stormed past, trying not to cry. She was dismissed while her brother was suffering. She wanted to help Peter, she wanted her parents to believe that she could do it, but they were right. The thought of harming something which was alive was difficult for her to stomach.
It wasn’t long after that, on a cold winter’s day, when the worst possible thing happened. Their parents went out hunting, and they never came back.
The first night, Peter said, “they probably just made camp. They’ll be home in the morning.” His voice was full of confidence.
The second night, he said, “they’ve gotten lost. They’ll find their way home.” He still sounded sure, but Susan knew he felt doubt.
The third night, he said nothing, and as they all sat in the living room together waiting silently, he sharpened his sword. Susan glances at her bow and arrow in the corner of the room, and thought she might practice the next morning.
The following afternoon, Lucy came running inside in tears, into Peter’s arms. When she finally spoke, what she said was, “they’re dead. The trees told me.”
“Trees don’t talk to humans, idiot!” Edmund had responded, and stormed upstairs. Susan followed while Peter comforted Lucy, but Edmund’s door slammed closed. As soon as the lock turned, Susan heard him cry, and she sat there on the other side of the door, and finally let herself cry, too, as silently as she could, for she didn’t want Edmund to hear. That day, she believed Lucy about the trees, and so did everybody else.
Her heart ached for the pain in Edmund’s cries.
If Peter cried, nobody saw him do it. He was calm and comforting. “We can take care of ourselves, can’t we?” he said, as though their parents had simply gone on a week long holiday. And for a week or so, they did, until one evening, when out by himself, Peter had heard soldiers nearby. He came home and told them they had to move.
Lucy, who was so young, so innocent, said, “I know just where to go.” Nobody believed her, or at least they told each other they didn’t, but nobody else had any ideas to offer, either. And so they followed her towards Lantern Waste.
“You know she actually has no idea where we’re going, right?” Edmund asked, wearing their father’s navy coat as they walked quickly through the cold night. Susan was wearing her archery gear, although she hated the idea of having to use it.
“I do!” Lucy argued. Edmund had become quite horrid since their parents died, attempting to push his emotions away. Nobody could reach him. Susan wanted so badly to make him better, but he rejected her every attempt. At one point, she brought him a cup of hot chocolate, and he threw it out the window. She didn’t let him see it, but his unkindness had made her cry.
“Well, if you have any ideas, Ed, feel free to mention it,” Peter had answered, holding Lucy’s hand. Edmund was quiet, scowling, but didn’t complain again after that.
Miraculously, Lucy did know where she was going. To the cottage of Mr Tumnus, the faun she had spoken of to Susan. He was timid, but kind. There was something about him which felt immediately trustworthy. Edmund didn’t like him. Mr Tumnus had a soft voice, an understanding expression, he was polite and made them all tea and crumpets. It was clear he knew Lucy well.
“I will take care of you for a night or two,” Mr Tumnus said, “but there is a better place for you to go.”
Tumnus took them to the home of his friends the Beavers. Susan loved them from the moment they met. There was something so motherly about Mrs Beaver, which made Susan feel safe. But it didn’t escape her notice that these beavers, nor Tumnus really, could protect them.
She kept her bow and arrow near, and hoped that Peter’s strength of will, his belief in himself, is stronger than hers.
Susan is twenty now, and Peter is twenty-two, Edmund is eighteen and Lucy is fifteen. It’s been eight years since their parents died and they moved in with the Beavers, and during that time they have managed to keep mostly out of trouble.
Mr Tumnus comes over every Sunday for tea, and Lucy introduces them all to the trees and the squirrels and all the other friends it turned out she really did have all that time. They come to visit, occasionally, on days when it’s quiet and there are no soldiers around, which at first, was most of the time. Nobody is quite sure what the Telmarines would do if they found them—after all, nobody’s doing anything wrong—but the soldiers are frightening, and hate Talking Beasts. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Friends have left one lazy Wednesday afternoon only to never be heard from again, a fact which Susan tries not to think of, as the implications are simply too horrific.
It is a bright Friday morning, and Susan is hanging up the washing of herself and her siblings on the line outside the dam. Mr Beaver is nearby, collecting wood as he so often does to strengthen his household. It is peaceful and early; at 8am it’s already sunny, in the middle of spring.
“Susan,” Edmund says, making his way outside. She isn’t surprised to see that he has woken already. Like her, he can be an early riser. “Do you remember last night, when I was speaking with the dryads?”
She remembers vividly. He was sat on the log and sipping wine, and she was watching to ensure he didn’t drink too much. He may be an adult, but she still likes to watch out for him.
“Indeed, brother, why?” Susan asks, remaining focused on her task, and only paying him half of her attention. She notices the flowering quince are in bloom, along with the daffodils, peonies and forget-me-nots, making the area around their home quite beautiful. Susan adores spring; it might be her favourite season.
“They told me stories which troubled me,” Edmund answers. Susan pauses after hanging up a pale blue tunic, to offer her brother her full attention.
“Such as what?” she inquires, narrowing her eyes. She suspects it must have some merit, if he is coming to her rather than waiting for Peter to rise. When Edmund takes things seriously, he runs them by Susan before telling their hot-headed brother, who is always sure to go headfirst into solving the issue. This is so the pair of them can decide how to phrase it to Peter together, to minimise the chances of an overreaction.
“They say the Telmarines are becoming far more aggressive, slaughtering every Talking Beast they can find,” Edmund explains. Susan purses her lips. “They say it is because Prince Caspian is nineteen now—quite past the age when he should have succeeded his father—and King Miraz is becoming more afraid of the possibility of a mutiny by his people. Miraz is not popular, even with the Telmarines themselves.”
“I see,” Susan says. The entire story sounds perfectly plausible, but she hates to think of it. She’s always liked to keep the drama of the Telmarine dynasty at a distance from herself and her family. However, if their friends are in grave danger, Susan knows that standing by is not an option—when Peter and Lucy hear of this, they will be very upset.
“I feel we must do something, sister. Lucy will never forgive us if we merely stand by—at the very least we must invite Tumnus here with us where he can be protected,” Edmund says. Susan nods in agreement, although she knows that won’t be enough. Peter considers himself almost a leader of this area of the woods, and many look to him for protection. Susan wishes he didn’t have such a need to play the hero.
“We must hold a discussion with Peter and Lucy,” Susan says, biting her lip. There is no good end to this, she knows it for certain. When she meets Edmund’s eyes, she can tell he knows it, too.
“I am going to practice my swordsmanship,” he declares, and marches off with his typical purpose. Susan watches him sadly, but knows that is wise. She returns to the laundry, as she mastered archery years ago now and practices weekly. There is no need to prepare for a war that hasn’t yet been declared. She’s too hopeful for that.
It is two hours later when everybody has risen and managed to gather, within the Beavers’ little living room that is barely big enough for them all now that they’re grown. Peter and Lucy are each eating jam on toast, sat at the table alongside Susan and Mr and Mrs Beaver. There are cups of tea abound (and one black coffee for Edmund who likes the caffeine), and Edmund is stood just in front of the kitchen area, to explain the situation, as Susan told him it was his job to do so. She doesn’t feel she knows enough about it.
“How important is this important announcement, Ed?” Peter asks. He sounds as though he doubts that it holds any real importance at all, and Peter isn’t a morning person. He needs an hour or so to perk up, and it has been a mere fifteen minutes.
“Deadly,” Edmund answers, holding his coffee in his hand, as though despite the weather he feels the need to warm them. “The dryads spoke to me last night of trouble within the Telmarine Castle.”
“Must we care for the interpersonal issues of the royals?” Lucy asks tiredly. She holds great contempt for the Telmarines, at the height of her teenage defiance and resentment of authority.
“We must if it begins to affect us,” Edmund responds. Lucy looks a bit more interested, and Peter’s brows crease in concerned anticipation. Susan gently pats his hand to comfort him. “I was told that the Talking Beasts are being slaughtered more violently and frequently than before. King Miraz is feeling threatened by his growing nephew, Prince Caspian—it is causing him to lash out at us.”
“How can we be sure that this isn’t merely regular Telmarine brutishness?” Mrs Beaver points out, in her typical, calming way. She never assumes the worst of any situation, and that is what Susan has loved about her since the day they met.
“They spoke of seeing the bodies of all kinds of creatures—Talking Beasts, Dwarves, even one or two Centaurs—lying dead in the woods nearer the Castle,” Edmund explains. Lucy gasps, sitting up straighter, and Peter wraps his arm around her in an attempt to somehow alleviate her fear. “They said they had never seen so many bodies all in one place.”
“Even Centaurs?” Mr Beaver murmurs softly, thoughtfully, having the same thought as Susan—how powerful they must be to take down a creature so mighty and brave.
“And the number of bodies are growing, heading in this direction,” Edmund adds, and Susan almost respects him for his ability to be the bearer of so much bad news with such little self-consciousness.
At first, there is silence in the room as they consider the gruesome truth—a trail of bodies, from the Castle to their home, where they and their friends reside, as the soldiers grow ever nearer. Susan can’t help but wonder what Miraz thinks he is going to accomplish.
“Excuse me while I think,” Peter says. He rubs Lucy’s shoulder for a moment and heads outside, and Susan follows, just to check he isn’t about to grab his sword, call on his Centaur friend Glenstorm, and ride to the Castle himself.
“Peter,” Susan says. In the sunshine he looks golden and peaceful, but his face is so solemn, his jaw set with anger. He turns to look at her, in a stance ready to fight. “You must remain calm.”
“They’re coming this way, Susan,” Peter says. She knows he’s thinking of all their friends, and of Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver, but more than anything, of Lucy and Edmund. “I knew we couldn’t hide forever.”
“Don’t jump to the worst conclusion,” Susan says. How she wishes he was able to stop and breathe and think, before he felt. He feels so much and she is often irritated at how unable he is to contain it.
“We must act before they do. You always want to wait. I’m sick of it,” Peter answers. She wants to say you always want to attack, but before she can say anything at all, they’re interrupted by Mr Beaver. Susan didn’t hear him coking over their conversation—his footsteps are so quiet.
“When Adam's flesh and Adam’s bone sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done,” Mr Beaver says, his voice far more serious than usual. They both look down at him. “The Palace of the Four Thrones. Two Sons of Adam. Two Daughters of Eve.”
“Not that again,” Susan says, sighing. Mr Beaver has brought this up once before, around two years ago now. Susan dismissed it. She doesn’t believe that they are the future rulers of Narnia, that they are the prophecy. All she wants is to live in peace in the Woods with her family and her friends.
“We have to do something, Susan,” Peter says. Of course he thinks that! Susan sees visions of him as some kind of martyr in her nightmares far too frequently, dying heroically, in battle. She doesn’t need him to be a hero. She needs him to be safe, to be here and present for everybody else, for those who need him.
“Peter, stop and think,” Susan answers, her voice steady. “Edmund was practicing his swordsmanship earlier. Is that what you want? Our little brother in battle with Telmarines?”
“Of course not, but it’s hardly up to me, is it? They’re moving in, Susan, you can’t turn away from reality! A plan must be made,” Peter argues. He looks frustrated, and gazes at the blooms of the flowering quince as though their beauty may offer him wisdom.
“Peter. Susan,” Mr Beaver says, his voice still serious, but more hesitant now. “You are the prophecy. Tumnus knew it from the moment he met Lucy and she told him of her family. It was always supposed to be you.”
“You mustn’t say such things, Mr Beaver,” Susan says in a hushed tone, glancing towards the house to check that her younger siblings are not eavesdropping. “We are not— usurping the crown from King Miraz, or King Caspian, if it turns out to be so. We cannot. Peter, tell him.”
When her brother is silent, Susan turns to look at him in disbelief. His expression is solemn and resigned. He believes the prophecy, that much is clear, and that they are it. How could he even suggest they should allow Lucy to be tied up in a fight for the throne? She’s fifteen!
“I’m sick of both of you!” Susan huffs, and storms inside, leaving then out there together, to plot their nonsense. She wishes she could go for a spring walk, but on this day, the woods don’t seem safe.
Lucy finds that her siblings often don’t realise that she can hear their conversations perfectly well from her and Susan’s bedroom, if only she leaves the window open.
She knows, of course, that they will keep things from her, because of her youth. It’s natural, it’s understandable, but by her age, Peter was already well into training for potential future battles.
Lucy practices her dagger-throwing often but nobody knows about it. Peter did give her the dagger a couple years ago now, to protect herself with, but he knows little of how well she can use it. It would only upset Susan and Peter to know how much she worries—Susan was bothered by Edmund doing a little sword training!
And so Lucy is sneaky about it. She does so hate to see any of her family upset. She hated, just now, seeing Susan so frantic, and Peter so quiet. It’s rather unlike both of them. What hurts Lucy is that she was never told about this prophecy, not even by Mr Tumnus. Peter clearly believes it, and Lucy understands why. They are exactly the right number, and they are friends with the Talking Beasts. Who else should sit at Cair Paravel? Lucy has believed in Aslan since she first heard of him, although she doesn’t much speak about it. Many believe him to be a myth, but not her and Tumnus.
Lucy waits to hear if Susan is coming up the stairs. Upon realising she is not, Lucy starts to pack a bag, only a small one, for emergencies, mainly filled with water bottles due to the warm weather. She is going to walk the short, ten-minute distance to Mr Tumnus’s house. He will explain it to her far more patiently than anybody else, of that she’s certain—and then once they are done talking, she will bring Tumnus back home with her, where it is safer.
“Lucy?” Edmund enquires, appearing at bedroom door out of nowhere. His footsteps are unusually quiet and always have been. It is an excellent stealth skill. “Why on Earth are you packing a bag?”
“Shhhhh!” Lucy shushes. He frowns, walking closer, sensing a secret. As the two youngest, they often like to share little things between themselves. “I’m just going to see Tumnus and bring him home. There’s something I just heard the others mention which... I need to know more about.”
Edmund considers this for a second, furrowing his brows. “Behind Peter and Susan’s backs?” he asks, his voice unreadable. When he was a child, he loved doing things behind their backs, but he tries to have more respect now—despite that, Lucy knows that he loves proving himself to be his own master by ignoring the advice of Susan and, especially, Peter.
“Mm-hmm,” Lucy hums, wondering which will win out this time. Loyalty and respect, or curiosity and pride?
“Alright. It’s not like you’re going far. I’ll join you,” Edmund says, curiosity and pride winning out this time. Lucy grins and hugs him, and he hugs her back, the way that he only ever hugs Lucy, with a genuine comfort. Usually he hates hugs.
“Great! Then we can all have an open discussion upon our return,” Lucy says cheerfully. Indeed, they may not give the information to their younger siblings out freely, but once Lucy and Edmund have acquired the information through other means, there will be no choice but to properly talk about it.
“Gee, you can’t keep a secret for long, can you?” Edmund asks, and Lucy pulls away, shrugging. She’s not ashamed of it. She can lie if she wants, but when she can, she’d rather be honest.
They sneak out the back door together in the direction of Tumnus’s home. Mrs Beaver and Susan are in the kitchen, and Mr Beaver and Peter are out front. The house is quiet, and despite the sunny day and singing birds, the mood is awful.
As they walk, Lucy tells Edmund about what she heard. She tells him about the prophecy, about how Mr Tumnus apparently always believed it to be them. She tells him of Peter and Susan’s reactions as she notices that the woods are far quieter than normal. No squirrels or badgers or foxes—silence, besides the birds, of course. But luckily, she can hear no horses and no soldiers, and that is what truly matters.
“I understand why they didn’t tell us, but we must be done with the lies, mustn’t we? This spring is taking a turn, and if the prophecy is us in truth, then only we can save the kingdom,” Lucy points out. The woods look ethereal with the sun rays glowing through the branches, past the leaves.
“They certainly shouldn’t have lied about something this important. The information is necessary for us to be cautious,” Edmund answers. “We need to know better.” He seems annoyed that secrets are being kept from him, but that’s typical Edmund; he always wanted to be treated like an adult. He resents how Peter is older.
“They will not believe that we are mature until we show them such,” Lucy says, lifting her skirts as they march over tree roots. Lucy has a preference for thin, delicate fabrics, that which tear easily; they are useful in the heat of days like these, however. “Mr Tumnus will tell us the truth. He won’t be able to lie to me, I’m sure. But he has always been good at keeping things close to his chest.”
“Ah, he’ll crack,” Edmund answers. “I think he’ll realise it’s important for us to know too. He isn’t daft and he doesn’t have the same weird protectiveness of us everyone else does.”
Lucy smiles in amusement that her brother thinks that their brother and sister being protective is “weird”, when she considers it to be perfectly natural. How could they not be that way, after their parents’ death? But Lucy never speaks of what has passed around Edmund. He never quite got over the shock, she feels sometimes.
It isn’t long before they approach the little cottage, which is surrounded by daffodils and bluebells with no order at all, unlike their garden, which they cater to and design. Mr Tumnus lets his garden grow as it pleases, and Lucy thinks it beautiful.
“I am relieved to see his home looks undisturbed,” Lucy says as they approach, and Edmund nods in agreement. They walk to the door and Lucy knocks gently, announces their names, and walks inside.
“Lucy Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie,” Mr Tumnus says as they walk in. He appears to be tending to the flowers he has inside his home, watering them so that the sun does not dry them out. He’s at the back of the home, past the steps, and Lucy grins and hurries towards him.
“Mr Tumnus! We are sorry to surprise you,” she says, giving him a hug. He puts down his watering can to return it. “There is only something we must speak to you about immediately.”
“I’m always happy to see you. Both of you,” Mr Tumnus says, smiling at Edmund also. Their relationship was once tense, when they first met, when Edmund was still grieving and in some denial. “Hello, Edmund.”
“Hello,” Edmund says, going over to sit on the small steps on the side of the main room, where he tends to sit. He will rarely sit at a main table or sofa if it can be avoided. “Have you been hearing from the rumour mill, Mr Tumnus?”
“Oh—not today, not yet. Is there something worth hearing?” Mr Tumnus inquires. He seems curious, but not unpleasantly so, not as though he expects the news to be bad.
“We have plenty to tell,” Lucy answers, and passes Edmund as she skips back down the steps to where the tea and coffee can be made. “Sit. We will explain, and then we have a question you must answer truthfully.”
“Oh. Of course, Lucy,” Mr Tumnus answers, and quickly finishes with his plants, before tottering on his hooves down the steps as well to sit on an armchair, while Lucy makes drinks.
“Mr Tumnus, have you lost touch with any friends recently?” Edmund asks. “I don’t mean to be vague. I just want to know how local the matter at hand is before I alarm you.”
There is a moment of quiet as Mr Tumnus pauses to think. Lucy looks at the wood of the counter and notices a few splinters which must be fixed, when more imminent issues have been dealt with. She is afraid of Tumnus’s response.
“It has been a week or two since I have heard from my squirrel friends,” Mr Tumnus answers carefully, in his stammering way, eyeing Edmund who is sat, as ever, with a guarded expression upon his face. “Oh, and... do you remember Tilly? A bear friend of mine?”
Lucy gasps in horror, turning to look upon Mr Tumnus as the water heats up. “Oh, a bear? Edmund— Centaurs, and bears— nobody at all could be safe!” Beneath how upset she is, anger bubbles. Why would they do this? Merely to show Prince Caspian how easily his throat could be slit?
“Lucy, of what do you speak? Safe from what?” Mr Tumnus asks, speaking fast and his voice clearer in the wake of his sudden concern.
“There’s been news from the trees that violence from the Telmarines has increased rather rapidly,” Edmund says. “Talking Beast numbers are dwindling. They are retreating further into the woods, which day by day the Telmarines seem to be becoming less afraid of.”
“Oh— oh dear,” Mr Tumnus says, as Lucy brings him his tea, and Edmund his coffee, over on the steps. Then she returns to settle on the armchair opposite Tumnus. “Towards us?”
“It seems that way,” Lucy answers, cupping her hands around the tea as though she needs the warmth. “They say that King Miraz is threatened by his nephew, who is well of age now, and who is the rightful ruler in the eyes of his own people.”
“And Miraz is taking it out on us, is he?” Mr Tumnus asks, his hand a little twitchy from nerves and anger. “We should have seen this coming. Oh, last night many fauns didn’t come to the lawn to dance the way they had the night before. I did wonder where they were.”
“They’re hiding,” Lucy answers. She can almost hear Edmund’s thoughts—or dead—but she doesn’t like to think of it, and she certainly won’t say it aloud. “We feel something must be done, Mr Tumnus, and that leads up to our next question.”
“Yes?” Mr Tumnus almost whispers, holding his tea close his lips, but not yet taking a sip.
Edmund says nothing, sipping his coffee and watching Lucy. He seems interested in watching this interaction, as he so often does; his skills of observation are far superior to others.
Lucy meets his eyes for just a moment before she looks back at the faun, watching her just as attentively, and she puts down her cup of tea before she allows herself to speak.
“I heard Mr Beaver talking to Peter and Susan,” Lucy starts to explain, chewing on her lip. “He was reciting the prophecy. Two Sons of Adam, two Daughters of Eve—that one. He said that we are the prophecy, that you thought so. And Peter believes it.”
Mr Tumnus puts his tea down also, stammering incomprehensibly as though they are upset with him and he’s been caught in some kind of dreadful lie.
“We aren’t upset with you,” Lucy clarifies after a second, with a smile, to calm him, before letting her gaze shift back to determined curiosity.
“I have always believed it to be you four. Yes,” Mr Tumnus answers. Lucy breathes in tight and looks at Edmund, but his expression doesn’t change at all. “But Aslan has not returned. I didn’t think we needed to tell you until— well, if He ever did.”
Lucy pauses to think about that. The return of Aslan, whom many doubt the existence of, would be her greatest wish. But she knows Peter is unlikely to wait for Him with the soldiers fast approaching.
“What if it isn’t us?” Edmund answers. “There are many sons of Adam and daughters of Eve in Narnia now. Perhaps it is one of the Telmarines. How are we to know?” He pauses for a second and sips his coffee, and then he says, “We would be usurping. And the four of us leading together, well, as equals, I hardly think so. Shouldn’t those from the prophecy be the same age to prevent issues with disrespect?”
“Peter is the High King. His word would be final,” Mr Tumnus says, as though Peter’s authority is a certain thing. The High King of Narnia. Could Lucy really imagine her brother so powerful?
Edmund laughs a bit but there’s no humour in it. “Ah,” he says, and nothing else. The tension in the room seems to increase a little.
Lucy sighs, not at all interested in getting into that. She pities Edmund his pride, if only he could accept authority a little more rather than rebel. Authority isn’t always so dreadful, at least not from somebody like Peter.
“Well,” Lucy says, picking up her tea, and drinking it. “The final thing we came for, Mr Tumnus, was to invite you to stay with us. You would be perfectly welcome, and safer from potential attackers with us there to protect you.”
“Oh, Lucy Pevensie, you are kind,” Mr Tumnus says, gently tugging on his forest green scarf as he thinks about it. She smiles and goes to crouch at his feet.
“We mean it most sincerely. Don’t we, Edmund? You simply must come,” Lucy says, taking one of Tumnus’s hands in both of hers to highlight her sincerity.
"Yes, it would keep us all from being paranoid. You don't want Susan and Lucy worrying," Edmund answers, still appearing a little distracted by what Tumnus said. "And it will keep Lucy from walking in the woods alone to visit you. It may only be a mere ten minutes, but I think it best we stick to group units whenever possible."
Mr Tumnus nods after just a moment, as a result of all of Edmund’s incredibly valid points. He is so logical, Lucy is always pleased to have him on side in any argument or debate.
“Yes, that does make sense,” Mr Tumnus agrees, and stands. “I will pack a small bag.”
Lucy grins and steps away, helping him to pack as Edmund stays where he is, nursing his coffee. He downs it when it’s time to go, and they step outside with Lucy holding onto Mr Tumnus’s arm as Edmund walks a few steps ahead.
For the first five minutes, they walk peacefully and sip bottles of water, for the sun is burning down very hot through the leaves. Then Edmund suddenly stops walking.
“What is it?” Lucy whispers. Mr Tumnus grabs tighter hold of her in reaction to Edmund’s sudden stillness, the way he is glancing around. He points to the body of a fox, a little ways ahead of them, and Lucy cannot hold back her gasp.
“Oh, Lucy, Edmund, it isn’t safe this way,” Mr Tumnus says, his voice full of restrained fear, as soon as he notices it. But Lucy knows Edmund must be thinking the same thing as she is.
“But this is the way home,” Edmund answers, his voice soft now. “Any soldiers that came by here surely must have passed our house. We are very visible, a lone house by the river.”
“Peter and Susan could handle it. They are very capable warriors,” Mr Tumnus answers, but Lucy isn’t so sure. They aren’t too far from the house, but there are no sounds of any kind of struggle. It’s too still, too quiet. She continues to walk, faster than before, dragging Mr Tumnus along beside herself.
“Lucy, be careful,” Edmund says, making sure to stay directly ahead of her—if soldiers spotted him, it would block any view of her. “We must make sure Tumnus isn’t spotted.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Lucy answers. It doesn’t make her hesitate, but as they get closer to the house with no further signs of the soldiers, they slow down, just in case. The house comes into sight just as Lucy hears the sound of a horse, and then Mr Tumnus pulls her behind a tree, and she grabs Edmund’s shirt and pulls him back, too.
Lucy looks around for where the horse is, and they go from tree to tree, closer to the house, until they see. Peter and Susan, on the edge of their garden where the trees thicken, speaking to the soldiers. There’s no sign of Mr and Mrs Beaver, and Lucy can’t hear what they’re saying.
“Where are the Beavers?” Edmund whispers, brow furrowing, sounding immediately worried. “I hope they’re inside. I doubt Peter and Susan would be having a chat with them so sensibly if anything awful had happened.”
“They must be hiding,” Mr Tumnus says, gently rubbing Lucy’s shoulder to comfort her. “Your brother and sister must be convincing the soldiers that they live alone.”
Lucy nods. Of course, that makes sense. She surveys the area again, to check for signs of a struggle, but there is nothing wrong. Even Susan’s laundry line is untouched.
For a moment, Lucy thinks that perhaps all will be well. She takes Edmund’s hand and squeezes it, full of hope. But then what she was so certain would go right goes tremendously wrong.
Susan and Peter both get on the back of a soldier’s horse.
“What are they doing? Edmund, what are they doing?” Lucy asks, her voice rusher, full of panic, and Mr Tumnus is holding onto her to stop her from running towards them. It’s all she can do to not scream their names.
“I don’t know,” Edmund answers, half-glancing at her and then looking away again when he sees Tumnus has hold of her. “They’re unharmed, Lucy. If they were going to hurt them, they’d have done it.”
“But they’re going away. They’re going away, Edmund,” Lucy says, her voice shaking. She’s never before been without Peter and Susan. She knows that she and Edmund aren’t helpless, but still—what are they without their siblings? Why could they possibly be being taken? “Edmund, what if they’re going forever?”
She knows that Edmund is even more afraid of abandonment than she, that being left so suddenly was always something he found incredibly painful. So perhaps he isn’t the right person to lean on, but Lucy can’t help it.
“They’re not,” Edmund answers, sounding as though he may be about to lose his temper with her.
“How do you know?” Lucy asks him, but Mr Tumnus must be able to see that Edmund is at the end of his rope, because he gently shushes her.
“They would never let that happen, Lucy Pevensie,” Mr Tumnus assures her, giving her a hug. She rests her cheek on his shoulder and watches the horses retreat into the woods, seeing Susan glances over her shoulder like she’s looking for them. But they stay hidden, and she sees nothing.