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Mirror Mirror	By : deadhead Category: A through F > Chronicles of Narnia Views: 4819 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to the Chronicles of Narnia, nor am I making any money from this pastime.

Chapter List
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Across a crowded ballroom floor their eyes meet, then flick instantly away. It didn't happen. It was a trick of the light. I don't know what you mean.
Edmund graciously asks a passing wood nymph for a dance. Tumnus compares war stories with a cheetah.
Throughout the long months of summer, they pass in halls and eat at the same table; share the same roof, walk the same gardens, talk to the same beloved kings and queens. Occasionally they are required by the rules of social etiquette to address each other, and they do so with cool politeness, completing the exchange at the earliest opportunity to do so.
Susan watches them without comment. Peter remonstrates in private with Edmund. Lucy gazes with trusting eyes at her best friend and asks outright, "Why don't you like Edmund?"
"It's not that," says Tumnus. Somewhere nearby a hunting horn sounds, and he hastily excuses himself to follow its call. Later, Lucy sees him slumped beside a boulder in a deserted clearing. The hunting party has not yet returned. With a frown she turns away and seeks out her brother.
He is no more forthcoming than her friend.
* * *
It is not until the long summer has worn away to autumn that one of them breaks. Surprisingly, it is Edmund. On a lonely pebbled beach four miles from Cair Paravel he sees a faun throwing rocks into the sea. When he realises that the figure is Tumnus he hesitates. It would be an insult to the faun to turn back, and however cool they have been to each other, each has stopped short of direct insult. Doggedly he continues his trek along the beach. The receding waves hiss as they ripple through the pebbles, waiting for the moment when they can be reborn into the the thrust of an incoming tide.
"Your Majesty," Tumnus says, his courtier's bow now polished with the ease of frequent use.
"Master Tumnus," Edmund replies courteously. The exchange is complete. He can proceed along the beach. But for once there are no curious ears or eyes, nothing to prevent what he knows he must say except his own stubborn pride. Tumnus is already looking away to the endless grey horizon.
Edmund drops to his knees.
"Good Master Tumnus," he begins, jerkily but with resolution. "I owe you an apology for a crime so heinous I hesitate to even approach you. I led the witch to you, and caused your imprisonment and torture. You may never forgive me, for indeed I cannot forgive myself, but if there is anything that I can do or say to make reparation for my sin, I implore you to let me know, now or at any time in the future."
For a long moment he kneels there, head bowed in penance, until he realises that he must look up to face the consequences of his deeds. Tumnus' face is shocked, horrified. Edmund realises that he has not been forgiven.
"I apologise for my intrusion, sir," he chokes out, and breaks out into a run, feet pounding on the beach as he uses every ounce of his energy to escape his foulness, the awful remembrance that his treachery will never, can never be forgiven. He runs until he can run no more, subsiding into a slow walk, the stitch in his side no more painful than his thoughts. Dusk is falling, the sun like a ball of bloody flames sinking, sinking.
Peter and Susan will be worried. He should go back. Broken, he falls to his knees on the cold, damp sand. The warmth of the day has already seeped away from the shingle. One by one the stars come out and the moon slips over the shoulder of a headland. By her light he sees a faun trudging wearily along the strand and, trusting for protection to the cool emptiness left inside his chest, Edmund goes to meet him.
"Your Majesty," Tumnus says. Awkwardly he bows as low as a faun can go, fauns' knees not being built for kneeling. Edmund recognises dimly that this is new.
"King Edmund, I beg your forgiveness. I did not realise... I did not mean..." Tumnus moves closer. "I am the traitor who took the Witch's silver, Your Majesty. It is not for me to judge you. I would never hold that time against you."
His eyes are shining bright in the moonlight. Edmund cannot tear his gaze away. "But then... why?"
Tumnus averts his head, thinking. "How old are you, King Edmund?" he asks slowly.
"Twelve," Edmund replies. The hollowness in his chest has been replaced by something he doesn't understand; a fierce burning.
"Your majesty must ask me again when you are sixteen," Tumnus replies. "Until then, please be assured that I respect you no less than the other kings and queens. You do not need my forgiveness, but if it comforts you please know that you have it. I reaped only the reward of my own treachery, and I have answered to Aslan for it, as you have."
Edmund nods, a deep peace filling his entire body from toes to crown. In the moonlight he and Tumnus walk back along the beach together, talking only of lighter matters, but Edmund knows that there will be more to come. In time. Four years is not so long to wait.
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