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Winter had descended upon the castle and entrenched itself along the turrets and about the gardens, settling thick white blankets of snow about its shoulders like a mantle.
Wrapped in her rug, Lucy sat upon the window seat, legs stretched out before her on the cushion. A scattering of lanterns lit her from behind as she gazed out into the dusky evening where the fresh snow reflected the last of the day’s sunlight where the Kings of Narnia fought against the knee-deep snow, running in lengths from one end of the frozen garden to the other with their wooden practice swords.
Lucy shook her head and smiled, pulling her lap desk closer. She dipped her quill in the inkwell, dabbed the tip on the blotting cloth and continued her letter.
Our brothers are not content in the winter. They feel trapped in the confined atmosphere of Cair Paravel while the cold reaches its fingers through every crack and under every door. Peter, I think, would not be so quick to take to the frigid air at every hour of the day, but for Edmund, who still fears these winters. Your younger brother can not bear to stay too long indoors caught in the stuffy air of the kitchen, nor in the drafty hallways. Nor can he stay long out in this snow, not by himself. I have seen him standing in the gardens looking outward. I do not know what he looks at, but I fear for his heart and the remembrances he carries.
I, too, join him when I can to distract him. The next time you travel to visit our southern neighbors, I beg you convince Edmund to come with you. I do not know that he would love the endless sands, or the tents that are forever tilting in the winds, or the overbearing heat of the southern sun, but I think sometimes anything is better than his frozen inertia when he sees the world as though dead before him in the winter that returns every year.
At a sound of shifting and lightly clicking hooves, Lucy looked up. Mr. Tumnus sat before the fireplace, smoking a clay pipe and peering over his reading glasses at her. He quickly looked back down to his favorite book of poems.
“It is not too warm to stoke the fire,” Lucy said in a droll tone with a smart shift of her eyes.
“I was hoping you would say so, even if it is getting late,” Tumnus said, setting the book aside and knocking the tobacco from his pipe into the ashes as he took the faggots from the iron hoop beside the hearth and added the split logs in the grate.
Lucy carefully set her lap desk on the window seat as she lowered her slippered feet to the stone floor. She settled her rug more firmly around her shoulders and joined Mr. Tumnus at the hearth; she sank into the pillows and cushions piled there and watched the fire grow from smoldering kindling to a fine fire creeping along the dry bark.
Mr. Tumnus finally sat back with her on the floor.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, looking at his bare chest, lightly furred.
He shrugged and smiled at her.
“That’s not much of an answer,” she said, reaching beside them to retrieve a blanket, which she threw around his shoulders. Then she curled up close beside him, watching the fire again. “Better?” she asked.
“Oh, yes.”
They sat together, watching the flames and listening to the crackling sparks as it ate away the wood and the light of the day finally died, leaving the glass panes to show the wondrous Narnian stars beyond the wide leaded window that also reflected the lantern light back into the room.
When all sign of the sun was gone and the fire burnt steadily before them, Lucy asked, “Will you play for me?”
“I thought you were asleep,” Mr. Tumnus said, looking at her in soft surprise.
“I’m drowsy… I don’t sleep well when any of my family is away.”
“Queen Susan is well able to care for herself, and with the Guard’s captain with her…”
“Oh, I know. Dear Mr. Tumnus, don’t suppose I’m worried… I just feel incomplete in a way.” She laid her hand on his arm and turned her eyes up to his kind face. “Do play a song for me?”
“Of course.” Tumnus retrieved his panpipes from beside the chair, and sat up straight. He curled his legs under him and Lucy idly grabbed a hoof, rubbing her thumb through the course hair at his ankle.
“What should you like to hear about?”
“Play a soft winter song,” she told him, “something sleepy.”
“Ah! An ode to hibernation,” he said, and set the instrument to his lips.
At once, the soothing tones set her very marrow at ease and she closed her pretty eyes, shifting to lay her head in his lap.
The music descended upon her, filling her ears with low whispers of winter, of the time when the trees sleep and the bears sleep, and the little creatures of the world cuddle together in heaps of fur and tails and whiskers.
The fire danced on her eyelids, filling her blank vision with black clouds chased by red shadows. Beyond this, she saw the pictures of his music, dancing snowflakes in cold winds and the whole of the quiet earth at peace.
She was nearly asleep herself when the song came to an end and he laid a too-gentle hand at her brow.
“Mr. Tumnus,” she sighed, “I know it’s late, you must be sleepy. But can you stay? Can you play it again?”
“You don’t tire of it?” he asked.
She peeked one eye open and looked up at him. “No, silly.”
Mr. Tumnus looked at her for a long time. “We’ve done nothing but sit and read for three days.”
“And listen to your delightful music, Mr. Tumnus.”
“Yes.”
“Would you stay here with me tonight?”
“You really haven’t been sleeping, have you?”
“No.”
Mr. Tumnus absently ran a hand through her long dark hair. “Do you want to get into bed? I… I can play you to sleep… if…”
“I’ll stay right here,” Lucy said, curling closer. “And yes, play me to a restful slumber. I have need of it, I think, after my restless nights.”
Tumnus petted her hair one more time before lifted the pipes again to his lips.
After but a few notes, the Queen was asleep.
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The End