UNBROKEN BONDS

I wanted to try another sad, sweet story with Edmund and Tumnus. Even though Father's Day is already over, I figured it couldn't hurt to write something like this.

After all, both Tumnus and Edmund lost their fathers, in a similar fashion, so I'm sure they can relate to each other.

Story © unicorn-skydancer08

Lyrics © Luther Vandross

All rights reserved.

Summer has always been a highly favored time of the year, especially among children, most especially among boys. Edmund, otherwise known as King Edmund the Just, one of the young lords who reigned over the mystical land of Narnia, had once loved summertime as much as any other boy. But now, instead of looking forward to the season, he found himself dreading it. Though he loved the warmth and the constant sunshine, the fresh green grass and cool trees, the warm days of swimming in the Eastern Sea and the crisp nights of stargazing with the centaurs and dancing with the fauns and dryads in the Western Wood, and the overall freedom to do as he pleased, there was that one bit of the season he didn't look forward to.

That day was Father's Day.

Under normal circumstances, Father's Day would have been a time for celebration. Edmund remembered how he and his brother and sisters used to serve their father coffee and hot biscuits in bed, and later crowd anxiously around his special chair in the parlor while he opened the few gifts they had bought for him with their scanty allowances. Most of all, Edmund remembered the way his father would gather his children lovingly into his arms, and tell them they were the greatest Father's Day gift he could ever receive.

But then hard times arose. Before Edmund knew it, his father was shipped off as a soldier, to participate in a terrible war that seemed to engulf the entire world.

Edmund would never forget the day his father bade his family farewell, before departing for duty.

Lucy and Susan could not stop crying. Peter neither spoke a word nor shed a tear, but his face clearly revealed what he was feeling inside. Their mother kissed her husband tenderly, looking remarkably calm and composed even as her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and told him to be safe. Edmund hated to see his father go, hated to be forced to say goodbye; but he had allowed himself to be hugged. Even now, he could still feel his father's warmth, and sometimes his nose could still detect the faintest whiff of the aftershave.

That day marked the last time he and his siblings ever saw their dad, and they'd never seen, spoken to, or heard from him since.

Now that Edmund was living in Narnia, as a king, his dad seemed even farther away than ever. And the fact that Father's Day was fast approaching was cold comfort.

Even though Narnia was a beautiful, glorious place, though Castle Cair Paravel made for a wonderful home, somehow it wasn't quite like Edmund's old home in Finchley. Due to the war, with its air raids and bombings and everything, Edmund could only imagine what had become of his house. But however ravaged and ruined his former home might be, it was still the place where his heart truly rested. Cair Paravel might have been grand, but it didn't hold the memories of playing with his father as a small boy, or being soothed by his father whenever he awoke from an awful nightmare in the middle of the night or was tormented unmercifully by other children. And though he had his brother and sisters by his side, and he was constantly surrounded by creatures who respected and revered him, Edmund found himself feeling strangely lonely, as if he were stranded on the moon.

When Father's Day at last arrived, Edmund could be found walking slowly through the vast corridors of the castle by himself, his boots making little noise on the hard floor.

He was headed to nowhere in particular; he just felt the urge to take a little stroll.

The castle was mostly quiet, as it was Sunday, and therefore everyone, including the soldiers, was taking advantage of their day of rest.

At one point, upon passing a mirror, something made Edmund pause to look at his reflection.

Even though he and his brother and sisters hadn't stayed in Narnia for too terribly long, Edmund was taken a bit aback by how much he had changed, especially in his physical appearance. His face was leaner, more angular, all remaining traces of baby fat stripped away. His jaw was a little sharper, his cheekbones slightly more prominent, and his bangs had lengthened considerably. Also, though he was still quite skinny, he was starting to get broader around the chest and shoulders, and his arms and legs were developing more muscle.

For a split moment, the boy in the glass staring back at him looked very much like…his father. Notwithstanding the boy's youthfulness, regardless of the royal livery he was garbed in, it was almost like seeing a ghost. Edmund actually gave a small start, and he blinked rapidly several times. He even reached out a tentative hand and touched the cool glass briefly; just to be sure it was really himself he was looking at. Feeling both relieved and disappointed at the confirmation, he withdrew his hand and forced himself to turn away.

As he resumed his walk, listening to the hollow clomp of his own footsteps, his thoughts kept drifting back to his father.

Where was his dad, now? Was he all right? Was he still alive? Was he still fighting in the war, still surrounded by disaster and mayhem? Wherever he was today, Edmund just hoped he was safe and well. He wondered if his father was thinking of him too, this very moment; and he wondered if his dad missed him as much as he missed him. Great waves of homesickness washed through Edmund as he pondered these things, like the waves of the sea. A sense of terrible loneliness flowered within the deep springs of his heart. Oh, how he longed to have his father here with him, more than anything in the world. If only he could see him again, just one more time, even for a measly minute.

But, of course, the young king knew all too well that was far too much to hope for.

Nevertheless, he would willingly give up everything he had, including his own crown, just to have that special man in his life back.

As if with a mind all their own, Edmund's legs ended up carrying him to the private chancel at the bottom of the castle, where their Sunday meetings were usually held, and where anyone could go, anytime, to meditate and to pray. Edmund did not know why he came here, but Aslan knew he could use a bit of spiritual guidance right now. So the boy did not hesitate to walk inside. It was very quiet within that chancel, and extremely peaceful. Edmund always felt a feeling of deep reverence and awe come over him, every time he set foot through the door.

It was like God Himself resided in that very room. In fact, Aslan, the Great Golden Lion, or just the Great Lion, who was the maker and the savior of Narnia, was said to be an incarnation, an alternate version of Christ. Edmund wasn't sure about really referring to Aslan as Christ, but no doubt there was indeed something divine about that lion.

There was no one else in the room at that time, as they'd already completed their meetings for that particular Sunday. Yet Edmund still felt a powerful urge to be in here.

It was like some invisible hand were reaching out to him, gently but resolutely drawing him in.

As Edmund very slowly made his way down one of the empty aisles, his eyes wandered over the chancel, absorbing every detail like a sponge absorbing water. The walls were constructed of the purest white marble, garlanded with gold. There were exquisite paintings and elaborate sculptures of animals—mainly lions and sheep—and religious figures. There was one particular figure who stood out from all the others, and Edmund was convinced this must be Narnia's representation of Christ.

The figure's face appeared calm, noble, and majestic, yet there emanated a sense of pure love and mercy at the same time.

The painstakingly crafted eyes of the pearly statue seemed to stare right through Edmund, and Edmund gave an involuntary shiver.

All was totally silent, save for the resonance of Edmund's boots on the cold, hard floor, and the faint whisper of Edmund's own breath.

Ultimately, Edmund selected a spot close to the front. There he settled quietly onto his knees, allowing his weight to rest upon the pew in front of him. Even then, he continued to look around a while longer, before finally closing his eyes and letting his face slowly sink into his hands. But even with his face covered, with everything else blocked out, he could still see his father before him, clear as the broad daylight, and he couldn't break away from the overwhelming memories that continued to swirl and churn relentlessly.

Unexpectedly, he felt tears well up. Soon they were trickling steadily out of him, like water from a faucet.

Not caring in the slightest, however, Edmund remained resolutely in that spot, and he still kept his hands pressed firmly to his face, allowing himself to weep freely into his palms. His shoulders heaved and shook with the quiet, unreserved sobs, his tears finding their way through the gaps in his trembling fingers.

How long he knelt there and wept, he had no earthly idea. But in time, he ended up receiving a visitor.

Tumnus, who was also experiencing pangs of loneliness, and feeling prompted to come into the chancel himself for a moment's peace, trotted into the room on his cloven hooves, his fine green scarf draped loosely around his neck and shoulders as always. Though the faun made his best effort to walk peacefully, his hard hooves still made considerable noise against the hard stone floor. But Edmund was too far ahead, and far too caught up in his own sobbing, to really hear him. At the sight of Edmund, upon hearing the sounds of the Just King's grieving, Tumnus immediately halted in his tracks. His bright blue eyes widened considerably. His long, leaf-shaped ears that protruded through his thick, honey-brown curls pricked up.

At first he was astonished, but the faun's bewilderment was only temporary, and his heart quickly melted for the boy. What was it, he wondered to himself in distress, that had the young Son of Adam reduced to such a state? From the way Edmund was crying, Tumnus feared something terrible must have happened. Part of the faun was tempted to turn around on the spot, and leave Edmund in peace. It was very likely Edmund wished to be alone, anyway. Yet another part of Tumnus longed to go to him, to talk to him, to comfort him if he could.

It was the second half that won out.

Edmund, with his face still buried in his hands, was never aware of Tumnus's presence. It wasn't until Tumnus had reached him and touched him on the shoulder with one hand that his attention was grabbed. Upon feeling Tumnus's light touch, Edmund was so startled that he gave quite a jump, drawing in his breath sharply.

"It's all right," Tumnus hastily reassured him, speaking in a soft whisper. "It's all right, Sire—it's only me."

With one hand over his heaving chest, still breathing harshly, Edmund weakly rasped, "M-Mr. T-Tumnus."

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Tumnus humbly apologized. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Y-you didn't scare me," insisted Edmund, which was only half-true. "I-I just…I just w-wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here."

"I'm sorry," said Tumnus meekly. "I do not mean to impose, Sire, truly. I only wanted to see whether you were all right, whether everything was all right. Forgive my insolence."

Ashamed to have been caught crying like a baby, Edmund wordlessly ducked his head, attempting vainly to dry his tears on the sleeve of his fine satin tunic.

"If you want me to leave, I will," Tumnus continued. So saying, he turned to go.

"N-no," Edmund blurted, before the faun had taken so much as three steps. "Wait, Mr. Tumnus, don't go. Please stay." Almost as an afterthought, the boy added softly, "I…I want you to stay."

Seeing that Edmund meant it, Tumnus obligingly turned back to him. "All right, then," said the faun benevolently. "May I join you here?"

Edmund nodded, and so Tumnus sidled closer to him, and quietly knelt next to him. Somehow, having Tumnus with him made Edmund feel better, at least to some degree.

Tumnus was reminded of the time when he, himself, was alone in this very room. Edmund had been the one to come to him, and they'd shared a great deal of talk. Perhaps now was the time for another one of those "talks". "If I may," said the faun aloud, at length, "what's troubling you, Sire? What is it that has you grieving like this?"

Hearing himself addressed as "Sire" and "Your Majesty", Edmund chuckled weakly, in spite of himself.

"Mr. Tumnus, please," he said thickly, "how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Edmund. Just Edmund; that's it. You know how I hate to be tagged with all these formal labels."

Tumnus gave a short laugh in return. "Okay…just Edmund, then," he said, with a lopsided smile. "I'll try to remember that." His face and voice regained their serious tone. "But, really, what's wrong? What is it that's eating away at your soul? Please tell me." His hand resumed its gentle position on Edmund's drooped shoulder, and he offered a mild squeeze.

"N-nothing is wrong," Edmund lied. Then, feeling instantly and incredibly stupid, he felt his whole face flame red-hot.

Who was he trying to fool?

It certainly didn't take a genius to figure out something was the matter with him.

"Come, now, Edmund," Tumnus beckoned him, his hand still gripping the boy's shoulder, "I know something's happened to upset you greatly, and I beseech you to reveal to me what it is. I promise, I can keep my mouth shut. I won't go spreading it around. I only want to be able to help, if I can."

A fresh tear oozed down Edmund's cheek, which Edmund brushed away with his wrist, and Tumnus reached under his scarf and extracted a clean white handkerchief that he just so happened to have handy. "Here," he gently offered, "I think you need this more than I do." Edmund accepted the handkerchief without a word, using it to wipe his face and blow his nose.

Tumnus only remained where he was, waiting patiently for Edmund to pull himself together.

Finally, when Edmund managed to salvage his tongue, he spoke. "Do you know what today is, Mr. Tumnus?"

"Why, it's Sunday, Edmund," said Tumnus, perplexed at the question. "Surely, you know that. We had our Sunday services just this morning, had we not?"

"Well, yes…but what I meant to say is, do you know what particular Sunday this is?"

Tumnus faltered. "Why, no…no, I…I'm afraid I don't."

Edmund lowered his gaze, and began to absently twist and twine the handkerchief around his fingers.

"Back where I come from, Mr. Tumnus," he said gloomily, "today would be the day that we celebrate Father's Day."

"Father's Day? What's that?"

Edmund sucked in a long, deep breath, and very slowly exhaled, before he explained. "It's a holiday, Mr. Tumnus, held on the third Sunday of the first month of summer. It's a time when we honor our fathers. We give them special cards, and special gifts. It's sort of like Christmas, only without the snow, and it's just the fathers that receive presents. Sometimes, we serve them breakfast in bed. And sometimes we just hug them and let them know how much we love and appreciate them." He faltered. "And…with today being that day, and with my father not here…"

Here, Edmund found he could not continue.

But Tumnus could see where Edmund was going with this.

"Oh," said the faun in a hushed voice, "I see. I see. You're missing your father, aren't you?"

Edmund nodded again. He felt the muscles within his throat squeeze painfully together, and it was as though an ironlike claw had seized hold of his heart.

"My father is gone, too," Tumnus said, his voice now barely audible, his face an expression of terrible sadness, his china-blue eyes emanating heartfelt pity.

Try as Edmund might, he could not prevent the fresh flow of tears from gushing forth. His lower lip began to quiver involuntarily. Tumnus spoke not another word, but only opened his arms to Edmund, inviting him for a hug. The faun looked quite close to crying himself. Edmund somewhat hesitantly leaned over to the side, and Tumnus folded him gently into his arms and held him.

Edmund closed his eyes and nestled his face against Tumnus's scarf. There, he let loose.

He no longer attempted to hide it, or hold anything back—he simply let it all out.

He felt his tears seep into the luxurious material of Tumnus's scarf as he wept, but Tumnus didn't seem to care in the least. He just held Edmund close and let him sob, curling his fingers gently in Edmund's thick raven hair. Edmund felt himself being rocked idly, to and fro. At one point, he felt Tumnus's lips brush his temple in a tender kiss. He thought back on all the times when his father would hold him and comfort him like this; and for a few brief moments, he imagined himself back in Finchley, as a small child again, and the arms that enveloped him were his father's rather than Tumnus's.

This made Edmund want to cry harder. So, he did.

Tumnus never said anything the whole time. He simply remained on his knees and clasped Edmund protectively to him, comforting the boy in the only way he knew how.

Edmund could feel something warm and wet seeping into his hair. It wasn't until he'd settled down and drawn back enough to peer into Tumnus's face that he realized Tumnus had been weeping right along with him. Long, thin, glittering ribbons of moisture clearly streaked both of Tumnus's cheeks, the fine hair that lined his jaw was wet and matted, and his eyes had a rather reddish cast to them. Holding up the damp handkerchief, Edmund couldn't help asking, "Which one of us needs this, now?"

Tumnus smiled at that, but his smile was only temporary.

"I'm very sorry, Edmund," he said, his voice sounding slightly hoarse. "I'm sorry about your father. It's a terrible thing, not having your father around when you need him most."

Tumnus could certainly sympathize with Edmund, probably more than anyone else in the whole castle could, having lost his own father to a horrible and untimely death. Even though many years had gone by, Tumnus still hadn't quite completely recovered from his loss. In fact, that was the very reason he'd come into the chancel in the first place.

"What'll I do, Mr. Tumnus?" Edmund asked. "I miss my dad so much. As much as I love it here in Narnia, somehow my life just isn't the same without him."

"I agree, Edmund," said Tumnus dolefully. "It's not the same for me, without my father, and it never will be." With one hand, he brushed Edmund's hair back from his eyes. He informed the boy, "At least you had the opportunity to say goodbye to your father. At least you got to bid him a proper farewell, before he went away. I never received such an opportunity."

"But you know where your father is, for certain, Mr. Tumnus," Edmund countered.

He hastily added on, "Not that I mean that being dead is better—but you'll never have to wonder where he is today, if he's safe, if he still remembers you, or if he'll ever come home."

"That doesn't mean I miss him any less," said Tumnus, "that I hurt any less than you do."

Then the faun actually smiled, through his veil of tears. "But, you know something? You and I can be happy and thankful that we even have fathers, that we've had a chance to be with them, to know them, and to love them when they were with us. In fact," he added, "they are still with us…even though we can't see them, or touch them, or speak to them like we used to. In a way, we'll never truly be apart, for we are part of each other." He slid one hand over Edmund's chest to emphasize his point.

Edmund understood perfectly what Tumnus was saying. But he still missed his dad terribly.

What he wouldn't give to have him here right now, this very moment.

"I still wish my father was here, now," he confessed sadly to Tumnus. "I still wish I could see him again, face-to-face."

"You will," Tumnus reassured him. "One day, someday, when the time is right, we'll all be with our fathers, and all the rest of our families again. I know it seems a very long time to wait, Edmund; but we'll make it, somehow. In the long run, everything will turn out all right."

He continued wisely, "And, today doesn't have to be the only day for honoring your father, does it?"

This made Edmund pause, and think a moment.

"No," said the boy, at length. "No, it doesn't, Mr. Tumnus."

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Why should Father's Day be the one and only day to think of fathers, to pay homage to them?

After all, Father's Day was more than just gifts and cards, breakfasts in bed and fancy dinners, and all that. It was about the fathers, those very special men who made a difference in the world, who left a significant impact on the lives of their children and families. Edmund thought about everything his father had done for him, how his father could always make him laugh, and cheer him up when he was feeling down. He reflected on how his father had taught him to be loyal, diligent, and dependable, and just what it meant to be a man.

Edmund thought of many of his old friends back home, who'd never even met their fathers at all.

Tumnus was right; at least he had been fortunate enough to know his father personally, and to know his love.

This realization made Edmund feel truly honored.

While the pain of missing his father did not vanish completely within that instant, Edmund could feel the soft fingers of comfort reaching into him, soothing him.

His chest no longer felt so tight, his stomach was no longer tied up in knots, and he found he could breathe more deeply and easily.

Despite the tears that continued to leak down his face every now and again, Edmund smiled up at Tumnus, who gently smiled back at him.

After they managed to dry their tears with Tumnus's handkerchief, make themselves a little more presentable, Tumnus helped Edmund to his feet, and invited him to stay with him for a while and have a friendly chat. "If you wouldn't mind," said the faun, "I am quite interested in learning more about the customs of this Father's Day you speak of. Perhaps you could teach me?"

Edmund nodded obligingly. "Sure, Mr. Tumnus. I would be happy to."

He paused. "And…Mr. Tumnus?"

"Yes?"

Placing a hand upon Tumnus's hairy forearm, Edmund said earnestly, "Thanks for being there for me, for understanding me and my feelings. And thanks for helping me feel better."

Tumnus nodded himself, and answered amiably, "You're quite welcome, Edmund."

Back when I was a child,
Before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me, and then
Spin me around till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved

If I could get another chance,
Another walk, another dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
How I'd love, love, love to dance with my father again

Oooh, ooooh…

When I and my mother would disagree,
To get my way, I would run from her to him
He'd make me laugh, just to comfort me,
Yeah, yeah
Then finally make me do just what my mama said
Later that night, when I was asleep,
He left a dollar under my sheet
Never dreamed that he would be gone from me

If I could steal one final glance
One final step, one final dance with him
I'd play a song that would never, ever end
'Cause I'd love, love, love to dance with my father again

Sometimes I'd listen outside her door
And I'd hear how my mother cried for him
I pray for her even more than me
I pray for her even more than me

I know I'm prayin' for much too much
But couldn't You send back the only man she loved?
I know You don't do it usually
But dear Lord, she's dyin' to dance with my father again

Every night, I fall asleep
And this is all I ever dream

"Dance With My Father" ~ as sung by Luther Vandross