PERSECUTION AND PRIDE

I love doing sweet, warm, make-you-feel-good one-shots with Tumnus and Puck, especially with a spiritual theme. And so, I decided to try it again! Read now and review later, but absolutely NO flames.

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

All rights reserved.

Tumnus was sitting quietly at his desk in his private study, bent slightly over a piece of parchment, with one hand holding an ink-dipped quill and the other hand cradling his forehead, when faint hoofbeats sounded outside his door (which had been left ajar) and he looked up in time to see his young son Puck pass by.

One look at the little faun told Tumnus that something was wrong. Immediately, he set his quill aside, and rose from his chair.

He made a swift beeline to the door, and he stuck his head out into the open hall and called out gently, "Puck?"

Puck, who was just on the verge of rounding a corner and disappearing from sight, stopped at the sound of his father's voice. But he didn't turn around, nor did he lift his head. Tumnus could have sworn he heard a sniffle coming from his son, and though Puck's back was facing him, he caught a brief glimpse of the lad's hand brushing over his face.

Tumnus's heart swelled with pity as he went to his poor boy. As he drew near him, he said solicitously, "Puck? Son, what is it?"

When he reached Puck and moved around to his front, he saw that Puck was indeed crying, though Puck was making a desperate effort to not show it.

He kept his head down, and he kept brushing futilely at his eyes. At least three or four salty drops ended up finding their way to the gleaming floor at his hooves.

Tumnus also saw that his son was quite dirty and disheveled, as if someone had wrestled him to the ground. His curly blonde hair was tousled, the tawny fur on his little goat legs was scruffier than usual, and the bare skin on his human half was streaked with dirt. He even had a bloody scrape on one forearm; while the scrape did not look serious, it did look to be quite painful. "Oh, Puck," said Tumnus, sinking to his knees in front of him and sliding his large hands over the child's thin, quivering shoulders, "are you all right? What happened?"

Somehow, Puck found the courage to look up into his father's loving and gravely concerned eyes, whose deep blue color matched the color of his own eyes perfectly.

Still, the little one would not speak, but only dropped his gaze once more, and sniffled. Slowly, very slowly, he edged closer to Tumnus, until both their bodies were pressed together. Tumnus willingly wrapped him in his strong, tender arms and held him very gently, while Puck buried his head in his father's warm neck, his tears dripping down Tumnus's bare skin.

"Shhh," Tumnus soothed, as Puck let out a pitiful mewl. "There, there, my boy, it's all right. It's going to be all right. Hey, hey, hey…"

He allowed his son to cry for a few minutes, while he rocked him and rubbed his back, comforting him as best he could.

When Puck was finally able to calm down, if only a little, Tumnus drew back from the embrace and told him softly, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Then, keeping one arm around Puck's shoulders, he slid the other arm beneath Puck's legs and carefully scooped him up off the floor as he arose himself.

He carried Puck all the way to his own room, using his hoof to nudge the door open when they got there. He laid Puck gently on his own bed, on the soft coverlet, and went to fetch a bowl of warm water and some clean rags. He then spent the next several minutes washing the dust and the dirt from Puck's face and arms, and cleaning his scrapes and scratches. Puck didn't complain once the whole time, though he winced sharply in pain when Tumnus lightly passed the moist rag over his injured forearm. When Tumnus had cleaned Puck up as best he could, he used a fresh, dry cloth to bandage his arm. After he had done this, he sat quietly with Puck on the edge of the bed, with one arm draped across his shoulders.

Puck rested his head against Tumnus's shoulder, just below the older faun's golden-brown beard, while Tumnus's fingers picked affectionately at his blonde curls.

"Now, my son," Tumnus said, at length, "tell me what's wrong. Please, tell me. How did you end up like this?"

After one more minute of deliberate silence, Puck finally spoke for the first time.

"Pillan did this to me," he said, speaking so softly that Tumnus almost didn't hear him.

"Pillan?" Tumnus repeated. "Calimus's son, the little faun with the shiny black hair and fur, and green eyes?"

Puck nodded gloomily.

"What happened, son?" Tumnus asked, pulling him just a little closer. "What did Pillan do to you?"

Slowly and hesitantly, Puck proceeded to tell his father his sad story. "Well, Papa," he said, "it all began earlier this morning, when I was playing in the woods with Cian, Marius, Pallaton, and Camdyn." Tumnus nodded slightly, recalling the two young fauns, the little satyr, and the centaur colt that Puck always played with, and maintained a close-knit relationship with. "Pillan came up to us as we were chasing each other through the trees. He told us he was having a special club, and asked us if we all wanted to be part of it. The rest of my friends said yes right away, but I wasn't so sure. I asked Pillan what I had to do in order to be part of this club."

Puck's eyes misted over once more, and he began to choke up. His father readily brushed his thumb across his son's cheek as a single fresh tear came trickling down.

"Yes?" Tumnus gently encouraged his boy. "Go on."

After struggling to force down the painful lump that wedged in his throat, Puck said in a trembling voice, "Pillan…h-he…he told me that in order to be in his club, I-I had to swear with an oath that the Great Lion Aslan is not real, that he does not exist…that he never has existed in the first place, and that he never will."

Tumnus gasped aloud when he heard that. "Oh, no!"

"A-and when I told Pillan that he was wrong," Puck went on, as his tears proceeded to rain down faster, "that Aslan is real, when I told him I didn't want to be in his dumb club if this was what I had to do, h-he laughed at me and made f-fun of me. He t-told me I was silly and s-stupid for believing in Aslan, and then…then he hit me, and pushed me. I tripped over a root, and fell down a small, rocky hill. When I got to the bottom, all of my friends were laughing at me."

"Oh, no!" said Tumnus, for the second time, unable to bear the scene these words portrayed.

That would explain the state his son was in—and not just in the physical sense.

"As soon as I got up, I ran away from them as fast as I could," said Puck thickly, "and I never stopped until I was back home again." His emotions got the better of him at that point, and he shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against his father's chest and sobbed, so that Tumnus once more experienced the hot wetness on his skin.

Tumnus felt his own eyes fill up this time, as he enfolded his poor child in his arms again and held him tightly.

"Oh, my son," he whispered, closing his eyes and burying his face in Puck's hair. "Oh, my son…my dear, sweet son…"

He sat very still and let Puck cry again for another good while, while he stroked him and wept with him.

Puck said nothing more, but only clung to his father, as though for dear life. When they finally loosened their hold on each other sometime later, when they were facing each other properly again, Tumnus said tearfully, "Oh, Puck, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to go through something like this. That's just terrible!"

"Aslan is real, isn't he, Papa?" Puck protested.

"Of course, he is," Tumnus never hesitated to answer. "I have seen him for myself. I touched him with my own hands, and heard his voice with my own ears. He is as real as you or I, Puck."

"That's what I told Pillan. I told him, 'My father has seen Aslan, Pillan. My father knows Aslan exists.' But Pillan just laughed, and said, 'Do you always believe everything your daddy tells you, Plucky? Have you seen Aslan? How do you know whether he is real?' I didn't know how to answer that, and that's when Pillan socked me one."

"I'm sorry, son," Tumnus said again, shaking his head very sorrowfully.

In his heart, the older faun wondered how children, especially small children, could be so cruel and thoughtless.

"Why would Pillan want me to say such things?" Puck agonized. "Why doesn't he believe in Aslan, the way we do? Papa, why do so many people go around saying such bad things about Aslan, telling everyone he's a big fake and—and everything?"

Tumnus took his time to ponder his answer, before giving it. "Some people," he said, speaking slowly and gently, "just don't agree with what we believe in, Puck. There are some who simply lack the faith to believe. They assume that merely because they have no physical evidence of something, it could not possibly be true."

"But," Puck couldn't help saying, "how can you believe what you can't see, Papa? I never saw Aslan before. As mean as Pillan was to me today, he does make me wonder. Why doesn't Aslan show himself to everyone, so that they will know him, and believe in him?"

"Without faith, my son," said Tumnus solemnly, "even seeing with your own eyes is not enough."

Puck bowed his head, but remained quiet.

"You can't simply force someone to believe in something," Tumnus continued, as he used his fingers to comb Puck's unruly hair. "Oftentimes, you struggle to believe before you can truly believe."

He hesitated, then added on haltingly, "There…was once a time…when I myself questioned Aslan's existence."

This caught Puck's attention right away, and he promptly raised his eyes to his father's face again. "You did?" he gasped. To think that his father—his own beloved father, who was a pillar of faith and strength, who taught him everything about Aslan, and who prayed devotedly to Aslan every day and night—could have ever doubted the Great Lion!

"Yes," Tumnus sadly confessed. "Many years ago, long before you were born, before I even met your mother, there was a period in my life when I wandered in darkness and doubt. I didn't know what was true, or right…or what I could believe in, or whom I could trust. Though my father and my mother, meaning your grandparents, were diligent followers of Aslan, I could not believe in Aslan myself. I refused to believe. I was, as your grandfather would say, as stubborn as a one-eyed griffin. I wondered just what was so great about this Aslan, and why he wouldn't show himself to us if he were truly real. There is no Aslan, I would keep telling myself; and if there was, he couldn't possibly care about someone like me."

Bowing his head, he went on in a hushed voice, "But I soon found out, the hard way, that I could never have been more wrong."

He paused a moment, to catch his breath. Puck saw his father bring his free hand up to his face, and dab briefly at his wet eyes.

When Tumnus managed to regain some of his composure, he continued, "When the day came that I had the privilege of actually seeing Aslan face-to-face, I was never more afraid, or more ashamed about anything in my life. I wanted to die, right then and there. I was so convinced that Aslan hated me, after all that I'd done, and I feared he would destroy me on the spot."

His voice grew softer, and Puck could now see a special light shining in his father's countenance.

"But Aslan saw right into my heart," Tumnus said. "He knew exactly what I was feeling. And instead of hating me, he loved me, and forgave me. All of my doubts and fears and sorrows were swept away. And I knew, I knew, with everything in me, that this creature truly was Aslan, that he was truly the Great Lion, and that he was as glorious as everyone said he was, and even more so. I swore to never doubt him again, that I would remain loyal to the Lion till my dying day, and even beyond that. And I have believed and followed ever since, Puck."

"Wow," Puck whispered, awestruck by his father's story. "Aslan is amazing, isn't he?"

Fresh tears shone diamond-bright in Tumnus's eyes, but the faun was smiling this time. "Indeed, he is, my son. He is truly extraordinary."

"I still wish I could see him, though," said Puck wistfully, looking down at his small hooves. "I wish I could know him the way you do, Papa."

"Sure, you can," Tumnus said, offering his child an encouraging squeeze. "You can come to know Aslan. You need only have faith, my son, and live your life the very best you can. And someday, when the time comes, whether in this world or in the world to come, you will see Aslan's face, and hear his voice, and you will rejoice together. Trust me on this."

Puck sighed, and covered his face with his hands. "Pillan may not believe in Aslan, Papa," he mumbled into his palms, "but he didn't have to fight me about it."

"No," Tumnus admitted, as he absently fingered Puck's nubby horns. "Fighting never does solve anything."

When Puck lowered his hands and looked up a minute later, Tumnus now smiled, and reassured his boy, "And you acted rightly, in the situation."

"I did?"

"You most certainly did. For one thing, you didn't fight back with Pillan. You didn't try to hurt him back, when he hurt you. Instead, you did just what you should, by turning around and walking away, and coming straight to me. Most importantly, you stood up for what you believe in, in spite of the way you were treated. I'm proud of you, son."

It consoled Puck to know Tumnus was proud of him; and he imagined Aslan, wherever he was, must be proud of him, too.

It also pleased the young faun to think about how he didn't stoop to Pillan's level by retaliating. Yet there was one thing that still troubled him.

"But what am I to do about my other friends, Papa?" he protested. "Camdyn, Marius, Cian, and Pallaton all thought it was hilarious when I stood up to Pillan, and he beat me. In a way, their laughing at me was worse than Pillan clobbering me. They probably think I'm a dope, and they'll never want to play with me or hang around me again."

"Forgive them, Puck," Tumnus encouraged him. "Show them love, show them you are willing to still be their friend. If they are truly your friends, they'll want to stay with you, and make amends." He gently added, "And if not, then perhaps they are not the right companions for you. Should that be the case, there are plenty of other children out there for you to play with."

"I guess so," said Puck, though he neither looked, sounded, nor felt the least bit happy about it.

"Puck?" a timid voice spoke up.

Puck, who was sitting on the grass in the cool shade of a towering pine with an open book in his lap, raised his head to discover Cian standing in front of him. Marius, Camdyn, and Pallaton were right behind the little faun. All four of them looked very ashamed. One of Camdyn's back hooves was tapping the ground nervously, and Marius's hands kept fidgeting.

"What are you all doing here?" Puck asked his friends bewilderedly.

"Can we talk to you, Puck?" asked Cian, speaking very meekly.

"About what?" Puck queried, as he closed his book and set it aside for the time being.

Pallaton bowed his head, looking like he was ready to cry. Marius brushed his own arm across his own nose, and sniffled a bit.

Camdyn said contritely, "We just want to say, Puck, we're really, really sorry about yesterday."

"We shouldn't have let Pillan push you around like that," said Cian, "and we shouldn't have laughed at you. I don't know why we even thought of all that as funny."

Camdyn shook his head. "Boy, did my father give me a talking-to," the centaur colt said ruefully, recalling the way Oreius spoke to him the day before after learning of the incident from Tumnus.

"My father gave me an earful, too," Marius added.

"We all acted very stupid yesterday," said Cian solemnly, "and we…well, we're just sorry, Puck." The other boys agreed.

Puck frowned. He was still hurt, and more than a little bit angry, about the way his friends treated him. But then he remembered what Tumnus had said: "Forgive them, Puck. Show them love, show them you are willing to still be their friend. If they are truly your friends, they'll want to stay with you, and make amends."

These wise words caused Puck's ill feelings to drain out of him, like water from a spigot, and his countenance grew soft.

"What do you say, Puck?" Cian continued. "Will you forgive us?"

"Can we still be friends?" Pallaton added earnestly.

Puck slowly rose to his hooves. The smile that spread over his face could not have been more genuine. "Of course," he said, and his companions all smiled back at him, looking pleasantly surprised, and greatly relieved. "It takes a lot more than that to get rid of me," Puck couldn't resist adding. Everyone laughed just a little at that, before growing serious again.

"I have to say, Puck," Cian admitted, "you really were brave, to stand up to old Pillan like that."

"I wish I had that kind of nerve," said Marius, gazing down regretfully at his cloven hooves.

Pallaton added, "And I wish we had all defended Aslan, the way you did, Puck."

"That's all right," said Puck. Then he changed the subject. "Hey, would you like to come back to Cair Paravel with me, for a snack? My father's got oatmeal cookies, and hot chocolate."

"Yeah!" Cian didn't hesitate to answer, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.

"Sounds great!" said Camdyn.

"Your father makes the best oatmeal cookies," Pallaton declared.

"And the best hot chocolate," Marius chimed in. "Never too hot, never too cold, and always with all the marshmallows you could want."

"I'll bet I can outeat and outdrink all of you," Puck challenged his friends.

"Oh, yeah?" said Camdyn, cocking an eyebrow at him. "We shall see about that! We centaurs are known for having two stomachs, you know."

This made them all laugh, including Puck. The newly renewed friends were just on their way to the castle, when Pillan himself showed up unexpectedly. "Well, well," said the black-haired faun, who was a perfect model of his father, "look who's here! If it isn't Plucky, the silly little goody-goody faun who believes in silly, imaginary lions."

All of Puck's friends scowled. "That's 'Puck' to you, Pillan," said Cian severely.

"What are you doing here?" Camdyn demanded. "Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"

"I just came by to see whether any of you lot were still interested in joining my club," said Pillan nonchalantly.

"No way!" said Pallaton, without hesitation this time.

"Count me out," Marius added firmly.

"None of us are interested in your stupid club, Pillan," said Cian, "if there even is one."

"Enjoy your little game on your own," Camdyn concluded, "because we're not playing."

Pillan looked to be taken quite aback at first. But then he scowled at them all, his green eyes glittering like a pair of cool emeralds, and he said stubbornly, "All right, then, it's your loss. I don't need you, anyway. I got plenty of other friends who would jump at a chance to be a part of my club!"

"Yeah," Cian taunted, "like the White Witch. She would most definitely leap at the opportunity!"

Everyone else but Puck positively cracked up at this, as though it were the funniest joke told in the history of Narnia. Pillan, far from amused, looked very angry at first. Then, as the laughter persisted, the scowl slowly vanished from the young faun's face, and Puck saw him actually take a few tentative steps back, his long, leaf-shaped ears quirking downward.

Pillan never said another word, only turned to leave, but not before Puck caught a glimpse of a tear or two in his eye.

Regardless of Pillan's treatment of him, Puck found himself feeling sorry for the other faun. It was true that Pillan was nasty—but perhaps, just perhaps, that was because he had no friends of his own, and simply didn't know any better. Puck remembered how his father once said that, oftentimes, people were cruel to other people because they were hurting inside. "And when people hurt inside," Tumnus had told him, "they often take it out on others. Striking out at an easy target is a way of making themselves feel good, even though it really does just the opposite."

And if Puck could show love to his friends, even after the way they laughed at him and humiliated him, surely he could show some love for Pillan as well.

Pillan hadn't taken very many steps before Puck set off after him, calling, "Wait up, Pillan."

When Cian, Camdyn, Marius, and Pallaton saw this, the laughter died almost immediately, and there was a sudden hush.

Pillan stopped when Puck called for him, but didn't turn around.

"What do you want?" he demanded, and there was a noticeable crack in his voice.

"My friends and I are going to Cair Paravel, for cookies and hot chocolate," Puck said gently. "Do you want to come with us?"

Hearing this, Pillan looked incredulously over his shoulder at him. "What?"

"What?" Puck's other friends exclaimed, their astonished voices blending into one.

"Sure," Puck insisted. "I'm sure my father won't mind. He makes wonderful oatmeal cookies, and there will be plenty of marshmallows for the chocolate. What do you say, Pillan?"

Pillan hesitated. "Well," the young faun said, at length, "I do like oatmeal. And…maybe at least one cup of chocolate wouldn't hurt." As he very slowly turned himself around again, so that he faced Puck properly, he asked, somewhat nervously, "You…you're sure your father won't object? And, you're sure you want me with you?"

"As Papa would say, the more, the merrier!" said Puck brightly. "Come on!"

Cian, Marius, Pallaton, and Camdyn looked nothing short of dumbfounded. But when Puck walked past them toward Cair Paravel, with Pillan trailing quietly after him, they all followed without a word, one after another. It was amazing how much different Pillan appeared now from only a few moments ago.

He had appeared smug and snooty, but now he was like a docile lamb, tagging the heels of its master.

As the kids headed for the castle, with Puck leading the way, Pillan asked tentatively, "Do you—do you believe that Aslan could be real, Puck?"

"He's as real as we are, Pillan," Puck replied.

"How do you know that?" Pillan hesitated again, before adding on, "And, what's he like?"

Puck just smiled, and answered, "Let's go to Cair Paravel, get my father, and get our paws on some cookies first, and then we will talk all you like."