Chapter Text
The streets of Narrowhaven were bitterly cold. They had been for the last hundred years. Dahlia had only suffered seventeen of those years, but it was enough for the snow to lose the charm it had when she was younger. Her parents dying during a particularly awful snowstorm did not help her case. Benedict and Celeste had been mages, a tradition they passed to their only child. While Dahlia didn’t believe she matched their skill yet, she knew enough to be valuable in her town.
It was a market day when Dahlia wrapped her mother’s cloak tight around her shoulders. The air held the crisp aroma of a looming snowfall. It had to have been close to the hundredth in her life. She yearned for the warmer seasons she would never know. Stories of spring always held a particular element of hope. She wished to see flowers that flourished rather than wilted.
Dahlia ducked into the alley she used as a shortcut home when a voice called her name. She paused; it didn’t sound like anyone she knew. Dahlia turned on her heel and leaned back into the main street. No one was looking her way, so she shook it off and continued the walk to her cottage.
Her fingers were beginning to numb from the cold. Dahlia shifted her bag from her hand to her shoulder. She cupped her hands and concentrated until a tiny ember sparked in her hands. Then the voice came again. It boomed, reverberating in her skull. Her flame died and she lurched back against the stone wall. The voice became the least of her worries.
Heat rose within her chest. It warmed her skin, but not in the way of a fever. She felt as if she were sitting too close to a bonfire. Dahlia slid down the wall. Her bag fell off her shoulder as she pressed her hands to her chest. The thin sheet of ever-present ice beneath her began to melt, wetting the hem of her dress. Her mental interloper returned. His words echoed like they were shouted into a cave.
Be not afraid, Dahlia Fey. The time has come for you to fulfill your destiny. All will be explained in time, but you must first find the Pevensies. They travel in four.
He was gone. The depth of his voice was replaced with piercing ringing in Dahlia’s ears. She curled into herself, head tucked between her knees. Her eyes squeezed shut. White light flashed behind her lids. The ringing reached its peak, then fell silent. Dahlia released herself.
A thick blanket of snow surrounded her. She must have fainted from the sound. Maeve Blackwood, her caretaker, would understand. Dahlia tended to overexert her magic. She had standing orders to check in with Maeve next door for dinner every night. Hot soup and fresh bread would do her good.
Dahlia reached back to push herself up. Her hand hit bark instead of stone. She scrambled off the ground, scattering the snowflakes that had settled in her hair, and turned. Narrowhaven was gone. Her bag from the market had vanished or was lost beneath the snowdrifts. Trees stretched skyward around her, evergreens caked with white. She would not be visiting Maeve tonight.
She left the shelter of her tree, brushing snow from her dress. She channeled heat into her hands and brushed them across her clothing. A dim orange hue bloomed from her fingertips as the fabric collected the warmth. With her mind freed from the cold, she could give the forest her full attention.
Magic had brought her here. This conclusion came naturally to a mage. She could feel it humming in the air around her. It was dissipating slowly the longer she stood shin-deep in the snow. She took a brief moment to praise herself for the waterproof charm she’d performed on her boots. Then she reconsidered the voice. The instructions he had given her were handy. She did not know these woods and at least finding the Pevensies gave her an objective. It would have been helpful to know more about them than their number, but whatever destiny the voice had referred to should not be tested.
Dahlia tugged at the air around her feet to lessen their weight. As she crunched forward, her boots stayed atop the snow rather than sinking into it. Her search did not last long. Chiming laughter led her to the top of a small hill. Four children, two boys and two girls, stood at the bottom bundled in large, furry coats. Dahlia thought they were hideous–the coats, not the children–and pushed more warmth into her clothing.
She leaned forward on her toes, skating down the hill to stop a few feet away from the group. The eldest girl, with thick brown hair that blended with the fluff of her coat, saw Dahlia first. She tapped the older boy to get his attention. Once the last pair of inquisitive eyes had turned to Dahlia, she wiggled her fingers in an uncomfortable wave. “Hello. You wouldn’t happen to be the Pevensies, would you?”
The younger girl–and youngest sibling, it seemed–beamed up at Dahlia. Blue eyes the size of crystal balls peered out from under soft hazelnut bangs. “Do you know Mr. Tumnus?” she asked. Dahlia blinked. Not expecting to have a fifth stranger thrown at her, she shook her head.
The taller boy moved between him. He shook a sheaf of dirty blonde hair from his eyes, which were a shade greener than his younger sister’s. He came level with Dahlia and straightened up to regain some height. This had to be the eldest taking on the role of family protector. He was no older than Dahlia. “If you don’t know Mr. Tumnus, then how do you know who we are?” he challenged, trying to sound intimidating. It wasn’t working.
Dahlia shook her head again. “I don’t.” The children stared blankly at her. She cleared her throat to dislodge her growing panic and acknowledged, “Right, that wasn’t helpful. Let’s try again. My name is Dahlia Fey. I’m not from this area of Narnia, so I’m not familiar with any Tumnus. All I know is that a disembodied voice spoke to me on my way home from the market. It told me to find you, and suddenly I was here. Magic, most likely. But not mine.”
“Not yours?” the youngest asked.
“I’m a mage. I’ve had to train myself for the last few years, but I’m passable. My powers are drawn from natural elements. It’s why I’m not sinking into the snow like the rest of you.” Four heads whipped down to her boots, resting delicately atop the white blanket while the Pevensies were almost knee-deep. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to know why I was summoned here.”
“We can’t tell you that, but we can at least introduce ourselves.” The older girl shouldered past her brother. He glared down at her. “Peter, she seems alright.” One name down. “And she’s actually from here. I mean, not properly here, but Narnia. She could help us.” Peter did not back down. His sister rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m Susan, he’s Peter, this is Lucy, and that’s Edmund.” Susan pointed over her shoulder to the fourth sibling that Dahlia had forgotten about. His tufted grey coat, more atrocious than the others, nearly swallowed him.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Dahlia smiled, looking at each of the siblings in turn. Edmund didn’t even bother to nod. Peter, at least, seemed more willing to let her tag along. Lucy tugged at his sleeve until he conceded to resume the trek to Mr. Tumnus’s house. She and Peter led the way, leaving Dahlia to pair with Susan. Again, the fourth Pevensie lingered at the back.
“For people who’ve just fallen into a new world, you four seem incredibly calm,” Dahlia commented, lifting a low-hanging branch for Susan to walk under it.
“Literally fell. We got here through a wardrobe.” Susan saw her confusion and laughed. She explained that their home, a place called London, was currently at war. Much of their world was. The siblings had been sent to the country manor of a reclusive professor to wait out the conflict. Lucy had discovered Narnia accidentally during a game of hide-and-seek. None of her siblings had believed her. Edmund followed her in and still claimed she was insane. In all fairness, if Dahlia thought she saw a wardrobe in the woods, she would have searched her parents’ books for a cure for madness.
They rounded the corner of a looming cliff and stopped. Lucy was frozen. Though Dahlia could only see her back, the young girl’s panic was made clear through her tiny shaking hands. Built into the rockface was a small brass door. It had been smashed inward and slumped against its hinges. Lucy took off. Her siblings bolted after her, but Dahlia made better time. She grabbed Lucy’s arm and crouched in front of her. “Let me go in first. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
A hand gripped Lucy’s shoulder. Dahlia looked up and met Peter’s eyes. He nodded. She took this as a sign to get moving. He still didn’t fully trust her despite letting her tag along. Dahlia released his sister and opened her hand. A small flame danced across her skin. She carried it through the broken door.
The home of Mr. Tumnus was in disarray. Shattered glass and torn books littered the ground. Furniture was overturned, the cushions shredded to release tufts of goose feathers. Dahlia found a surviving lantern atop the mantle. She transferred the flame into it and held it over a ruined chair. Distinct claw marks dug into the upholstery. A few strands of thick gray hair poked out of the cuts. Dahlia breathed into her lantern to grow the flame and clutched it to her chest. This was not the first time she had seen these marks. Every Narnian child had been raised to fear them.
Winter’s century-long reign in this world was the work of the White Witch. She called herself the queen and enforced her rule with brutality. She held court in a castle of ice, rarely leaving to walk amongst her people. In her place, she sent a militia of wolves. They were one of the bloodthirsty species that bowed to the Witch’s power. Dahlia had never properly seen them. She had only seen the crimson slashes in the chest of Wesley Blackwood on the morning Maeve became a widow. All he had done was make a snide comment about the Witch under his breath. Dahlia noticed a slip of parchment pinned to the wall. She ripped it off the peg to read it.
The Faun Tumnus is hereby charged with High Treason against Her Imperial Majesty, Jadis, Queen of Narnia, for comforting her enemies and fraternizing with humans. Signed Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police. Long Live the Queen.
“You can come in,” she called, “but brace yourselves.” Lucy barreled through the door first. Her siblings followed. Peter came last. He stopped in the doorway beside Dahlia.
“Who did this?” he whispered. Dahlia offered him the paper, which he read aloud. When he was done, he stared at the inked paw print on the bottom corner. “A dog did this?”
“Wolf,” Dahlia amended. Peter looked baffled. “Do animals not talk in your world?” He shook his head. “How boring. Listen, we shouldn’t stay here any longer in case they come back.”
“But what about Mr. Tumnus?” Lucy cried, distraught.
Dahlia frowned. She set the lantern on a precarious table to cast the family in its light. “There’s nothing you can do, I’m afraid. The Witch’s castle is impenetrable. And assuming you’re the human he was ‘fraternizing’ with, it’s too big a risk. Humans aren’t safe in Narnia as long as the Witch rules.” The Pevensies looked her up and down. When they found no hooves, wings, or fur, they looked confused. “There are some technicalities. We don’t have time to get into them just now.”
“Maybe we should call the police,” Peter suggested.
Dahlia closed her eyes and muttered, “This was the police.”
“Don’t worry, Lu. We’ll think of something,” Peter said, bending over to take Lucy’s hand.
“Why?” Edmund blurted. It was the first word he had spoken since Dahlia found them. If she was one to judge books by their covers, she would have said that he sounded like a brat. “I mean, he’s a criminal!”
“Only to the Witch, and she arrests anyone who so much as coughs too loud in her presence,” Dahlia retorted. “Mr. Tumnus helped your sister out of Narnia safely. I hardly think that’s a criminal offense.” Edmund glowered at her. Over his shoulder, a robin perched on the edge of the broken door. It beckoned to them with a sharp ‘Psst!’
“Did that bird just ‘psst’ us?” Susan asked Dahlia. She nodded, having grown up with talking creatures, and ducked out of the house. The siblings exchanged confused glances before scrambling after the mage. Once all the children were back in the snow, the robin fluttered away.
In a patch of shrubbery, a twig snapped. Something rustled within the greenery and dislodged a drift of snow. The Pevensies–save for Edmund–huddled together. Dahlia opened her hand. She called her flame from inside the house. Glass shattered faintly as the fire shot out to twist through her fingers. The bush rustled again. A small, furry brown creature crawled out. “It’s…it’s a beaver,” Lucy realized, baffled. Her older brother stepped forward, holding out his hand and making clicking noises with his tongue. Dahlia bit down a laugh and let the flames sputter out. They could simply talk to the beaver, but Peter’s attempt at communication was too amusing to interrupt.
The beaver did not share her sentiment. He raised himself to his hind legs, objecting “I ain’t gonna smell it, if that’s what you want!” Dahlia let a snort slip out, as did Lucy. The beaver turned to her. “Lucy Pevensie?” The girl’s already wide eyes stretched further as he offered her a small handkerchief with the initials ‘L.P.’ stitched on the corner.
“Hey, that’s the hanky I gave to Mr–”
“Tumnus,” he confirmed. “He got it to me just before they took him.” He looked suspiciously at the trees weighted with snow. Dahlia knew why. Beasts were not the only ones who worked for the Witch. “Follow me.” Half of the group moved. The other half stared at them like they were insane.
Susan snagged Peter’s sleeve. “What are you doing?”
“She’s right,” Edmund stepped forward to back her. “How do we know we can trust him?”
“You trusted me,” Dahlia raised a hand. She gestured over her shoulder, beckoning them to follow in the beaver’s snowy footprints.
Edmund folded his arms. “I’m still not sure about you.” Dahlia lowered her arm and glared.
“We need to go somewhere safe. I don’t know these woods, so I can only help you so much.” She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that the beaver wasn’t listening and lowered her voice. “And if he pulls anything, I’ll handle it.” She snapped her fingers and they sparked. This got them moving.