Title: Watched Pots

Author: MrsTater

Rating: G

Featured Characters: Lucy, Mr. Tumnus

Summary: Watched pots never boiled, Tumnus' father had always said.

Author's Note: A missing scene. Movie-verse, but hopefully also fits within novel canon, too.

Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia are the beautiful work of C.S. Lewis, and is owned by his family and the Walt Disney Company. This is a work of fanfiction, for amusement only, and I seek neither credit for nor profit from Lewis' story or the film.

Watched Pots

Watched pots never boiled, Tumnus' father had always said. In his memory, Tumnus heard the gruff, scholarly tones as clearly as if the old Faun were in the room with him; and, with a start, he jumped back from the stove as though chidden for staring, with a tapping hoof, at the teakettle he'd just put on to boil. Some time was required for the snow to melt and achieve the proper heat to make tea. After one hundred years, Tumnus ought to know that.

Waiting for the kettle to whistle, Tumnus bustled about his house with the same restless, nervous energy that had pervaded him for days, ever since he met Lucy Pevensie in the woods. Trying not to think about her visit and what it meant, and what he'd almost done, and what might still happen to him in consequence, he tidied things that didn't need tidying, finally falling still in front of the bookcase. His long, lithe fingers drummed on the shelf, and he was vaguely aware that he was tapping his hoof again as he scanned the familiar titles of the oft-read books.

Tumnus' lips curved upward in a faint smile when his gaze settled onthe gold leaf-embossed spine of Is Man A Myth? Now that he had passed an afternoon with a Daughter of Eve, he ought to put his time to good use writing a definitive treatise on the subject.

That assumed, of course, that he really had met Lucy Pevensie. Days had passed, and the Witch's police had not barged through his door to arrest him, nor had any of Tumnus' neighbours stopped by with word of gossip about his encounter with the Girl. But the Witch's spies were very good; surely Tumnus could not have met a Human at the Lamp Post, walked her through the Wood to his house, and back again and gone completely unnoticed. He had to have dreamed it all. The century of winter, solitude, and no new acquaintance had finally gotten to him.

At a sudden burst of air from the direction of the stove, immediately followed by a shrill shriek, Tumnus jumped. He pressed a hand to his wildly palpitating heart and stood panting for a moment, ears ringing with the squeal. Slowly the fog of surprise cleared from his mind, and he flushed hotly.

"Stupid, skittish Faun!" he scolded himself as he flitted to the stove to remove the kettle from the burner. The mumbled rant of self-recrimination continued as he, with trembling hands, opened the cupboard over the stove and withdrew a teacup. It wasn't the first time since Lucy's visit that he'd become so engrossed in a reverie that an everyday household sound had startled him. In fact, he jumped at every creaking floorboard and crackling log in the fireplace.

And now, a new sound made him pour water not into his teacup, but all over his spotless floor. The sound he'd dreaded: a rap at his front door.

He stood in the puddle, paralyzed, as though the Witch had already turned him to stone.

"Mr. Tumnus!" A high-pitched muffled voice was followed by another, louder knock.

But Tumnus could not move, even though the rational part of his mind told him that the caller couldn't be Police, because the Wolves snarled and snapped and certainly would never knock; and it couldn't be the Witch, either, because she would never address him as Mister Tumnus, or even use his name at all. He would just be Faun to her, and her voice was so much more—

"Mr. Tumnus, are you at home?" The voice was clearer, as though the visitor had pressed her face against the door. "It's Lucy! Lucy Pevensie!"

Lucy! Tumnus' hooves clattered on the floorboards as he jumped again, this time a graceful leap, a joyful dance. His dear little friend had returned!

Suddenly he sobered and sprang to the door. How long had he kept Lucy standing outside? She was shouting. She could be seen. And it was all his fault.

"Foolish, faithless Faun," he admonished himself, "fearing it was the Witch—"

He unlocked the door and swung it open, shooting an arm out to pull Lucy Pevensie inside his house and out of sight. But before he could, Lucy's arms whipped out and clasped him tightly around the waist. The embrace caught Tumnus so unaware that the small Daughter of Eve pushed him backward through the open doorway. As Lucy clung to Tumnus, she raised her head, and the smile of pure joy on her face made the Faun's heart leap and sent a surge of warmth through him.

"You're real!" Lucy cried. "I didn't dream you and Narnia!"

Her head burrowed against Tumnus' chest as she squeezed him tightly again, and Tumnus wondered if he'd ever heard a more beautiful, truly happy sound than her laughter. He was not at all sure he had, not even before this horrible winter had settled over Narnia. Nor could he remember the last time his rippling chuckle had resonated with a female's giggle, not even at the Midsummer dances of Fauns and Dryads. Had he ever appreciated how free and alive he felt when laughing?

But his laughter died when a shiver coursed up his spine. Lucy's fingers, pressed against his back, were icy, and her cheek was so cold against his chest.

"My dear Lucy Pevensie!" he cried, prying her off him. "You are an icicle." Hands on her shoulders, he guided her inside and nudged the door shut with his hoof. "I'm afraid I'm the poorest host in Narnia." Over her protest to the contrary, and drawing a chair up a close to the fireplace, he said, "Please sit, and let's thaw you ought into a Daughter of Eve."

Lucy accepted the proffered chair and flashed a grateful smile. But when Tumnus noted her chattering teeth, he scurried to a trunk in the corner and withdrew a knitted blanket. Draping it over her shivering shoulders, he said, "You timed your visit perfectly. I just made tea."

He quickly went to the stove and poured a cup. His confidence in his hospitality returned when he remembered Lucy took cream, and he even recalled the amount he'd poured for her upon her last visit. When Tumnus returned to the sitting area and gave her the tea, Lucy snuggled back in her blanket and hugged the warm cup to her body. Tumnus settled into a chair across from her.

"You take no tea for yourself, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy asked.

Tumnus realized in his preoccupation to get Lucy warm, he'd forgotten he'd originally made the tea for himself.

"No," he said. "I don't need anything." Lucy's presence warmed him, and he was content to drink in the sight of her friendly face.

A silent moment passed, and Tumnus gladly noted the pink hue that tinged Lucy's cheeks. She must be warming up. Just as he was about to ask if she was growing too warm, he noticed her eyes dart to her lap. As she set her teacup on a side table, she bit her lip and tugged at her clothes.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Tumnus," she said softly.

The Faun sat dumbfounded, but after a moment managed to stammer, "Ex—excuse you? Why, whatever for?"

Lucy's eyes darted upward, and she grinned sheepishly. "For visiting you in my pyjamas."

Tumnus gaped at Lucy for a moment, then glanced at the fire, brows knit as he tried to work out her words. He felt just as he had when she told him about War Drobe and Spare Oom. "I b-beg…I beg your pardon? Pyj…" He fumbled for the foreign word.

"Pyjamas," Lucy supplied. After a brief pause, she added, by way of definition, "My nightclothes and dressing gown."

"Pyjamas." Tumnus let the strange new word roll over his tongue. "How fascinating. Pyjamas."

Lucy giggled softly as she reached to take another sip of tea. "I would have dressed properly," she said, "but I was in bed, you see, and couldn't sleep."

Once more Tumnus found himself not quite following her train of thought as she explained something about Peter, Susan, and Edmund – her siblings – being unable to get from War Drobe to Narnia.

"So," she continued, "I thought to try once more, not really thinking it would work…But here I am, in my pyjamas!

The last was spoken brightly, with one of Lucy's wide grins, and Tumnus was glad her self-consciousness about her clothing seemed to have ebbed. However, the Faun was now the one flushing, and he only vaguely heard her say something about rubbers, which, since she had poked out one of her peculiarly shod feet, he guessed must be a kind of boot. Being well educated and an avid reader, it was one of Tumnus' pet peeves to appear ignorant. Now, if he wanted to know what Lucy was talking about, he had no choice but to display his lack of knowledge.

Unable to meet her level gaze, Tumnus asked, "Y-you must think me a v-very…" He half-swallowed the next word "…i-gnorant…Faun…"

"Oh no!" Lucy cried, rising from her chair and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his shoulder. "Not at all, dear Mr. Tumnus. You're a very smart Faun."

Her encouragement and smile emboldened Tumnus to look at her as he asked, "Why didn't you think you could get back to Narnia?"

"The magic's funny," said Lucy, resuming her seat. "It doesn't always work." She took another sip of tea and scrunched up her face as she thought."After I returned from meeting you, I tried to get back through with my brothers and sisters. When we couldn't, and hey didn't believe me, I thought maybe I'd dreamed it all."

Tumnus' heart gave a little lurch. "I was afraid I'd dreamed you, too," he whispered, then quickly stood and went to the stove to pour himself a cup of tea. His hands shook again, but this time he set down the kettle before he spilled. He stood motionless, reflecting on the new feeling of commonality, much like the one he'd shared with Lucy on her last visit, when she'd told him her father was fighting in a war. It had been so long since he'd shared so much with another person. He wasn't sure he'd ever had such a deep bond, save the one with his father – before Tumnus severed it with unbelief, of course. This could not be only the second time he'd met Lucy Pevensie. She was like an old and dear friend, and everything felt right when she was here.

He turned back to her with a cup of tea and a smile that stretched across his entire face. "But you are real," Tumnus said, resuming his seat, "and I'm real, and here we are, two friends having tea together."

The Faun raised his teacup as though making atoast, and Lucy's expression mirrored Tumnus' own – though only for a moment. She set aside her drink once more, and looked at Tumnus with a deep frown that made a little crease form between her eyebrows.

"How do I make them believe me?" she blurted, and Tumnus nearly dropped his tea to hear the unmistakable sound of tears in her voice. "What if I can't bring them back, like last time I tried?"

Lucy's helplessness was astonishing. After all the strength she'd exhibited to him the previous day – trusting him when he'd proved untrustworthy, forgiving him for what should be unforgivable, believing in him when he saw no place for faith – how could Lucy Pevensie now need strengthening? How could she expect to find it in him?

Though Tumnus had no idea how he could give her what she needed, he wanted to try. It was the least he could do, though he sorely doubted being able to half of what she'd done for him.

His mind turned to the Prophecy of the four thrones. The winter had stretched on so terribly, so endlessly, that Tumnus had thought Narnia would never see another season, that the Prophecy was merely a myth, a fairytale. Just like Man, he thought, glancing at his bookcase. Yet before him, in the flesh, sat a Daughter of Eve. Almost at the Faun's doorstep lay a door to another world, beyond which Lucy Pevensie had a sister and two brothers. Two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve.

And then, of course, was Tumnus' vision of Aslan, in which the Lion had warned him to do no harm to this Daughter of Eve. Must not she be one of the four? Must not her siblings be the other three to sit on the thrones and restore Narnia to rights?

At last, Tumnus spoke, gazing absently into the flames. "Even the most hardened doubter can change. There were things I…"

He stopped, as it occurred to him that he would be stepping out of his place to tell Lucy about the Prophecy. If her siblings already disbelieved that she had visited Narnia, a Prophecy that they were destined to reign there might make them even less open to Lucy.

Clearing his throat, he said simply, "There were things I thought would never happen, but they are happening, right now." Lucy's brow crinkled as though she were trying very hard to understand him. Before she could question him, Tumnus smiled and continued, "You made me believe, Lucy Pevensie. You will make your brothers and sister believe. I know you will. Just…be patient. Watched pots never boil."

A smile bloomed on Lucy's face, and again Tumnus marveled at the light that filled her eyes. She outshone the fire. She could melt the snow.

"Mum says that to me," Lucy said. "Especially when it's almost Christmastime."

Christmas – an apt metaphor, Tumnus thought as he stared into the fireplace once again, twisting his curly hair around his fingertips Surely it had to be almost Christmastime in Narnia.

"And you have been well, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy's voice pulled him out of his reverie. She held her saucer and cup as delicately as though she were using fine china, and she seemed older as she asked, with no little concern in her voice, "The Witch has not…?"

"She cannot have found out!" Tumnus cried, realizing his earlier fears of being arrested had vanished sometime during this conversation. "It's been days, and not a peep from anyone!"

"I'm so glad!" Lucy sloshed a little tea onto her lap in her excitement. "I was very worried for you, you know."

Tumnus felt his chest constrict and his eyes well. "After…after what I d-did…n-nearly did. You worried…a-a-about…me?"

Smiling kindly, Lucy set aside her tea and rose from her chair. She took his hand and pressed it. "You're my friend, Mr. Tumnus. Please don't think of it again. All of us almost do bad things."

Though he couldn't imagine Lucy Pevensie ever doing any thing bad – certainly not as treacherous as he'd done – Tumnus couldn't deny the wisdom in her words. He returned the pressure on her hand.

"Thank you for the tea," Lucy said. "Now that I'm all warmed up, I should go back. Susan might wake and worry after me."

Instantly, Tumnus was on his feet and, without bothering to sweep away the tea things, moving to the pegs by the door to fetch his scarf.

"Oh no, Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy as he wound the red wool around his neck, "I can go quietly, on my own."

The suggestion was horrifying. "What kind of ill-mannered and inconsiderate Faun would I be to let a Lady go out there alone?"

"You already risked being caught once," Lucy argued, joining him at the door. "No one's seen you with me so far, and I want to see that no one does."

Lucy was right about the likelihood of sneaking through the Wood again and remaining undetected. Nonetheless, Tumnus could not help but think that it was terribly wrong to let her find her away alone. What kind of friend would he be, not to risk himself to see her safely back to the door into War Drobe? What if the magic was funny again, and Lucy could not get home at all?

"I can be quite stubborn when I want to be, Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said, jutting her chin out with a rather defiant expression for such a sweet girl. "That's how I found Narnia, you know." Her eyes glinted with mischief. "My brother Peter could not say no when I asked him to play hide and seek."

She giggled, and Tumnus chuckled with her. Yes, Lucy Pevensie did have an almost disarming way about her that made him want to do whatever she asked, to go to any measure to make her happy. However, she also evoked a protective feeling within Tumnus, and he guessed within her eldest brother, too. Could a little Girl really be safe creeping by herself to the Lamp Post? On the other hand, this was a wise Daughter of Eve; Tumnus saw much more of the Queen about her, at times, than he did the Child.

"Daughters of Eve are remarkable creatures," Tumnus said, and Lucy beamed. With a little bow, the Faun added, "Thank you so much for calling. And when you do convince your brothers and sister that Narnia is as real as Spare Oom and War Drobe, bring them here. We shall have a merry tea."

"I wouldn't think of bringing them anywhere but here," Lucy assured him.

On a sudden impulse, Tumnus tentatively extended his hand. "Do people shake hands when they say goodbye?"

"They do, Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy, taking his fingertips and shaking his hand. "And I hope to shake your hand hello very soon."

"So do I, Lucy Pevensie," he replied.

Tumnus opened the door for her, bowing again as he stepped aside for her exit. He watched as she trudged a few paces in the snow, then turned and waved to him. Returning the gesture, Tumnus watched until she disappeared around the bend, then lingered a little longer than was, perhaps, safe. But he was not worried about the Witch's spies. Soon no one in Narnia would have to worry about the Witch at all. Thanks to Lucy Pevensie.

Whistling a Christmas tune he had not heard in years, he went inside his house to clear away the tea things. On his way to the kitchen, he glanced at his father's portrait, and it seemed to him that the old Faun's smile said, "Watched pots never boil."

Tumnus promised his father that he would do his very best to remember, and be patient. He sat down at his little writing desk, took out paper, quill, and ink, and resolved to pass the time by writing an essay about Man being much more than a myth.

No, indeed, he thought, dipping the nib in the well; in Narnia, Man was a dream come true.

The End