Arlen takes his and begins gleefully exploring! He wants to touch all of the walls.

Harin is content to look at the cool rocks, for his part. And shepherd Arlen, when necessary.

The cool rocks are very cool. Mir is so pleased about cave exploration.

(Harin sometimes catches himself enjoying Mir being pleased more than the cool rocks themselves. This is a disaster. Feelings are terrible.)

(Mir seems oblivious.)

(Nior can tell something's up, but is having trouble figuring out what.)

(Arlen found some quartz!)

Mir found some... he's not sure what it is, but it's sparkly and neat-looking.

Man, all Harin's found are uncomfortable questions about his own sexuality. Some people have all the luck.

"Look, Harin! Mysterious sparkly rocks!"

"Sparkly rainclouds!"

"Yes! Sparkly! It's, it's really nice. Hope I find something."

"Can't find if you don't look. Which way do you feel like exploring?"

Who is absent.

"He's—" begins Nior, gesturing across the cavern; and then he stops, and frowns, and says, "not over there anymore, which he was five seconds ago."

No joy. There aren't even any passages he could have inexplicably fled away through.

"...Okay. This is weird. Where is he?"

"Inexplicably vanished," says Nior.

"He was here. I was paying attention. Then he wasn't. I don't know why or how. So: vanished, inexplicably."

"I'm not saying that you're wrong. I'm saying that- that doesn't happen. Unless it's just all the rage in Elannwy these days."

"Me too," says Miraen.

...Mir hugs Harin.

Okay. That's okay. He'll just. More hugs.

Nior is staring at the estimated last known location of Ari as though it has personally offended him on the deepest imaginable level.

Trotting - the word is 'trotting'; there are hooves - into the lamplight is a fellow against whom slurs about his ancestors' habits with livestock would be spectacularly well-motivated. He has an umbrella and some parcels and he has his tail looped over his elbow and he is very surprised to see Arlen. The parcels may be presumed not to have noticed Arlen's existence themselves but go flying into the air as a byproduct of the goatperson's own alarm.

"Oh goodness! Oh goodness gracious!" says the goatperson. "You are, well, you are in Narnia. And what is it that you are in Narnia, are you a boy, that is, are you a human sort of creature?"

"Last I checked! You're adorable. And part goat, for reasons unclear."

"Delightful," says the goatperson dubiously. "Delightful," he says again with more confidence. "I am a Faun and my name is Mr. Tumnus, it is entirely delightful to meet you, what might your name be?"

"Arlen, Arlen Kallem, nice to meet you Mr. Tumnus. That is a very weird name, but you're very foreign, so I'll let it slide."

"Wherever did you come from?" inquires Mr. Tumnus. "And how did you come from it?"

"Uh... well, I was born in Welce. Then my mom died under mysterious circumstances and I got on a boat and ended up in some lost fantasy kingdom. And then I fell through the wall of some fucked-up cave and ended up here."

"What a... what a curious series of events indeed. There being no caves immediately about I cannot quite account for it. Not a bit. Still, it is quite cold out, being wintertime, and perhaps you would like to join me for tea? I at least need a bit of warming up."

"Yeah, sure! I'm good in the cold, but tea's always nice. Also, I'm really curious about the habits of goat-men. Apparently there's tea involved?"

"I do routinely enjoy tea!" confirms the goat-man. "I am I remind you a Faun." And he makes sure all his parcels are accounted for, and leads the way through snowy piney woods to a little dwelling.

There is a fireplace with fire in it, and a teakettle which is soon well on its way to having tea in it, and two chairs which could have Mr. Tumnus and Arlen in them. Tumnus rattles about in the kitchenette with eggs and toast.

Arlen sits happily in a chair and admires the decor! It all looks so cozy.

It is exceedingly cozy! Soon it is also teaful and luncheonesque. Tumnus becomes rather talkative. He will if permitted to do so chat for hours upon hours about this and that. Nymphs and a stag that grants wishes. Dwarves and treasure. Summers and holidays, all thoroughly past-tense. Mr. Tumnus can also play a little straw flute.

Arlen is entirely enchanted by all this. (He kind of forgets about Harin and Nior. Arlen has many virtues, but his attention span has never really been counted among them.)

"And of course," Tumnus mentions in an aside about one of these stories, "back then, we had Christmas."

"What's a Christmas?"

"Oh, it was a holiday perhaps a month along in each winter, with feasts and presents and good cheer decorations and - and it was lovely," sighs Tumnus, looking rather glum.

"Aw. And I guess you can't celebrate something a month into winter when it's winter forever."

"That is indeed very much the, the heart of the issue, ever since the White Witch became Queen."

"That sounds unpleasant. Was her mother a better queen, then?"

Mr. Tumnus blinks. "If the White Witch ever had a mother I doubt very much that she set foot in Narnia."

"It is principally the winter business that makes her so unpopular, but." Shrug. Tumnus stares morosely into the fire.

"Well, someone should do something. I've got my knives, but if a witch is anything like a prime that's not really going to hack it. I guess my friends and I could get an army together? They're nobles, and all. Might be able to do something like that."

"Oh, you have friends," says Tumnus faintly. "Oh how lovely. Oh I am a horrible Faun."

"Not sure how that follows, really. D'you not have friends? I can help you make some, if you like, it's not that hard."

"Oh my dear father would have been ashamed of me," sobs Tumnus, suddenly in tears. "Oh there has never been a worse Faun, not in all time!"

"Aw, hey, come on. Who cares what your dad thinks, you're alright by me. Plus, if fauns're anything like humans, there's probably been worse fauns no matter what you did. Even though I don't think you've done anything all that bad."

"Oh, but you don't know what I have done," wails the faun.

"Okay, so what've you done? I won't get mad."

"But you ought, you ought! Oh, to look at me, would you ever think," hiccups Tumnus, "that I would, that I would take payment from the White Witch, so that if I should ever find a human child such as yourself wandering about in the woods I would for the sake of that payment lure him home and there delay him all the while expecting him to ask to stay the night and thus permit me to turn him over to the Witch? I should hardly think it myself if I did not know better!"

"Oh, no, no, it's only tea," sniffles Tumnus, "and you can tell I've quite lost my nerve about the entire matter but all the same you had best get home as quick as can be. And quietly. If she heard that I had caught a human child, well, it doesn't bear thinking about what she might do. ...She would turn me into a statue, most likely, that is what she would do, I've gone and thought of it."

"Oh. That doesn't sound so bad, really. Unless you'd be conscious?"

"I haven't asked," says Tumnus, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief of stunning ineffectiveness.

"Huh. Now that'd really be awful, just sitting there unable to move or breathe or- I'm sorry, I'm being tactless again."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," sniffs Tumnus. "Only we had best hurry and get you home. I do hope you can find your own country again if I take you as far as the lamp-post."

"I think s- oh, man, I'll have been gone for hours, poor Harin! Poor Nior, even, he's probably more likely to worry... Let's go, I have to make a bunch of apologies. Thanks for the tea, and for a really lovely afternoon, really, even if you were going to betray me it was really nice while it lasted."

Hug. "Thank you. You are really too kind," says Tumnus, and he sketches a little bow and nips back homeward.

"Where were you," says Nior, appearing in front of him like some sort of tiny fretful wraith.

"Holy shit, have you guys been sitting here for five hours? I was somewhere really fucking weird."

"Five minutes, more like, but it was a very unsettling five minutes." He intrudes further into Arlen's personal space and inspects him closely, sniffing a few times. "Where were you that had snow and pine trees and cookies and... goats?"

Harin has gathered his thoughts enough to envelop Arlen in a bone-crushing hug. He seems disinclined towards other actions.

"I fell through the wall somehow, and ended up walking through pine trees and snow. Then I spent five hours having tea with a man with goat legs who intended to betray me to an evil witch but didn't, and I walked back through the pine trees until I was back in the cave. It was super confusing."

"It sounds it. You're all right, though."

"...tell me more about this evil witch," says Miraen.

"I don't like her either."

"Do you want to get an adult?"

"I don't know. It would take so much time to get enough adults," he says. "Ari, why did the goat-man intend to betray you to the evil witch? What's her interest in you?"

"No fucking idea. I mean, he said that it was any human child he was to bring to her. No specification of tall and adorable ten-year-olds. So maybe we're her... weakness, or something? Human children? If we touch her she will turn to ash and the winter will end? The problem of course being getting close enough to touch a woman who can turn us to stone. And that we don't actually know if that's how it works."

"We don't know enough," Mir mutters. "Nior. Know things."

"Between 'human children are her only weakness' and 'human children are a source of incredible power', circumstances suggest the first thing," he says. "Can't tell you why. Just a hunch."

"Who wants to go overthrow an evil queen?"

"Absolutely. Kill the witch, turn the seasons, bring back Christmas. Whatever the hell that is. It sounds fun. I want to see a Christmas."

"I'm in," says Harin, somewhat muffled by the continued Arlenhug. "This lady needs taken down."

"Good. I suggest we gather up all our cave-exploring gear, all hold hands to avoid being separated, and try to walk through Ari's wall. If we can't make it through after an hour or so trying, we go home and tell Mother and then the adults can get involved."

"...You may have to let go for a bit so this works, Har."

Harin lets up and holds the requisite hands, bindle strapped to his back. "I was going to let go at some point."

"Check inventory, Nior," says Mir. "You come last, Arlen goes first." He therefore holds hands with Nior and Harin.

"Got everything. Arlen, do please lead us into your mysterious wall of vanishment."

"Well," says Nior. "Snow. Pine trees. Now what?"

"Don't drop hands until we're a little farther in," says Mir, "just in case."

"Now... kill the witch, maybe? Bring back Christmas?"

"Find your goat friend and make sure he hasn't been petrified?"

"He's a faun. And... if his tracks haven't been buried, I can track him, but my sense of direction is shit."

"Let's look for his tracks, then," says Nior.

Nior has less direct experience with hunting and tracking, but an exceptionally sharp eye. He helps.

The former occupant of these premises, the Faun Tumnus, is under arrest and awaiting trial on a charge of High Treason against her Imperial Majesty Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands. Appeals and inquiries will be denied.

By the hand of her Majesty's most loyal servant – Eternal Winter

"Somebody has a talent for public intimidation," says Nior. "Shit."

"On the bright side, I can think of worse things than being turned to stone. Unless it's, like, conscious stone. That'd be awful."

"Are you feeling like we should get out of here? Because I'm feeling a lot like we should get out of here," says Mir.

"I'm not. I'm feeling like there's some people in this place who need killing, and we seem to be the only people willing to do anything about it."

"Granted, absolutely, but right here seems like a really bad place to be standing around discussing that, who knows what kinds of traps they've set up or when they'll come back for another look. Let's at least try to find ourselves a slightly more anonymous patch of forest."

"Oh. Yeah, probably."

"I think this might actually be too obvious to be a trap," says Mir.

"Arlen, back me up instead."

Arlen appears to have already followed the bird to its next branch, and awaits the others.

"Oh, for- fine. But this is under duress."

"Nior will protect you," Mir assures him, patting him on the back as he follows the bird.

"The hell he will. I'm the size of a grown man and I have a quarterstaff, I'll protect myself."

"I'm worried for you fragile little bastards. So stay close to me, I have a stick."

As does Harin.

"Lead the way," says Mir.

Aslan. Who in any available world is Aslan? The name makes Miraen feel like... like someone just showed him the challenge of a lifetime and then clapped him on the back and told him to get to it. Energized. Alive. About to get things done.

Harin feels, for an instant, like the kind of person who deserves to be happy for what he does. A good person, someone who deserves to rest. After a moment it leaves him hollow, but in that moment he understands what it could be like to be happy.

Nior feels two things at once. One is an echo, an understanding of Mir's reaction. The other is... complicated. Like a beautiful intricate puzzle, like staring into the cold embrace of death, like something that's perfectly right and perfectly wrong in a seamless, gratingly incongruous meld.

"Same question," says Mir. "Wow."

"Lovely house you have," says Mir. "Please, can you tell us what's going on? It's been a very confusing day."

"Oh! Yes, certainly, I'm terribly sorry, it just completely slipped my mind you wouldn't know anything, it's quite alright. You've been... well, you've been prophesied as the Kings of Narnia, I suppose. The Sons of Adam, come at last, to help Aslan overthrow the White Witch."

"I'd hoped for something along those lines," Mir admits. "Does the prophesy say anything about how we're supposed to manage this?"

"Well. I do enjoy a challenge," says Mir.

"Well, we're hardly the ones to ask, you know. As we said, Aslan is on the move. You can ask him about it when he comes."

"Do you know how we're meant to find him, then? Or is it just a matter of keeping ahead of the White Witch's people until Aslan finds us?"

"Oh, no, he'll meet you at the Stone Table, that's known. You'll have supper with us, of course, but then we can take you along the way."

"Thank you very much for your hospitality."

"Oh! It's no trouble at all, when's the next time I'll be able to feed the Sons of Adam, hmm?"

"Fair enough. Who's Adam, anyway?"

"All right."

"How'd you turn up all this in the middle of an everlasting winter?"

"Oh, the Cornucopia, of course. It's a real blessing in this time of need, the Cornucopia."

"And what is it?"

"...It's a horn that makes food. Sorry, it's surprisingly easy to forget that you're, ah, foreign."

"I'm surprised we speak the same language. Or is that magic?"

"I'm not sure I knew there was another language to speak. But when in doubt, it's like as not something to do with Aslan."

"Seems reasonable," says Mir.

All this talk of Aslan has left Harin feeling somewhere between "better than he's felt in his life" and "full of holes ripped in his heart". He excuses himself quietly and goes to sit on the dam and feel things.

Mir glances after him and wonders about the balance of politeness, appropriateness, and safety concerns. Then he sighs and doesn't follow.

"Is your friend all right? It's awfully cold out there."

"Yeah... do you have a coat or a blanket I could bring him?"

"Oh, we've got blankets aplenty, though my sewing machine's hardly what it once was. I'll show you, you can take one to him. Such a nice boy."

"Thanks very much," says Mir.

Mrs. Beaver bustles along to the linen closet and provides Mir with a downright obnoxiously fluffy blanket. "And it's all warm and dry, so that's well and good. And take up a cup of tea, as well. Or two, one for yourself. And you'd better have some biscuits..." She bustles together a basket for him to bring Harin.

Mir eventually escapes. He goes out to Harin, basket in hand, blanket over arm.

Harin is sitting outside, hugging his knees, and learning the principle that leaving the room when you are upset does not accomplish very much for your emotional state unless someone follows you out.

Mir puts the basket down beside Harin, shakes out the blanket, wraps it around Harin's shoulders, picks up the basket, sits down, and hands Harin a warm cup of tea.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I disagree anyway," says Mir, hugging him.

Harin leans his head into Mir's shoulder. "Trying to drink tea through a blanket. Stupid. And... whatever this is, this sad thing I'm being. Being sad is dumb. I don't like it."

"Trying to drink tea through a blanket is an interesting logistical challenge. Being sad is..." He sighs. "Sometimes unavoidable." Hug.

"Well, yeah. Extra unavoidable when it's happening because of some stupid magic word that everybody keeps saying. Doesn't mean it isn't dumb."

"It makes you sad?"

Harin sighs. "No. It... makes me happy. Really, really happy. And then it stops, and it's just back to... normal. Not good enough. Needing to be better. It feels like I'm already there, when I'm hearing it, and then I remember I'm not."

Harin extends the blanket to encompass them both. He may be sad, but Mir is a nice addition to any situation.

"That's... strange. You are."

Harin continues to accept hug. And think.

The trees do not reply.

If the trees are watching him, they're polite enough not to mention it.

After Arlen's artistic pursuits are complete and he is no longer in danger of frostbite in sensitive locations, he can hear jingling bells in the distance. Thataway.

"Yeah. Are you?"

"Aren't you inquisitive. I shall tell you if you like, but you look cold, why don't you come up here and sit by me and I will put my fur around you?"

"I've got a coat already. Also, no offense, but I don't cuddle with creepy ladies I've never met before. Personal policy."

"Well. I am Jadis, Queen of Narnia, Chatelaine of Cair Paravel, Empress of the Lone Islands. What is your name?"

"Arlen. Arlen Kallem. You kind of remind me of my mom."

"Is that so. Do tell me, how many humans have wandered into my realm?"

"A couple. There's four of us now. I was the only one who really wandered in, though, the rest followed me. Are you the White Witch?"

"I have already told you who I am. There are any number of less polite additional terms spread about by malcontents, of course. Tell me about your friends."

"Miraen and Nior are tiny but fierce. They're smart and stuff. And Nior's really great and he cooks. And Harin's my best friend and we grew up together almost and he's really good with a stick. They're all twelve. 'Cept Harin's freaky tall and the twins are really little. So that gets kind of confusing."

"They sound fascinating. Do go on."

"Dunno how much more I can go on about. I've known the twins for like a week and Harin was the second person I ever met. We learned knife-fighting together? The twins have all these adorable little habits to do with hugs? I might still be a little bit concussed from last week's thing with the boat?"

"Do you suppose you and all your friends should like to come visit me in my palace? I would be so delighted to have them."

"I kind of doubt that, honestly. Did I mention how creepy you are?"

"I had not been planning to mention your remark. But my home is lovely, certainly worth seeing if you are already in Narnia."

"I can mention it to them, I guess. Would be pretty cool to see the palace. For Nior and Mir, if nothing else."

"I'm so glad. Tell me, Arlen, what do you like best to eat?"

"Dunno. Rosehip candy, probably? It's hard to decide."

"How lovely. Don't disappoint me."

"I never do, ma'am."

And with that the witch gestures and off goes the sleigh.

The snuggling persons are still just as snuggling as they were when he left.

"Guess who just met the worst person," Arlen singsongs.

"...um. You?" guesses Miraen.

"Me!" Arlen agrees. "I totally just met the worst person. It's that White Witch lady. She's super awful and needs killing, like, yesterday. Also, she gave me creepy probably-poisoned magic candy and invited us all over to her palace. Opinion on whether we should take her up on it and use the opportunity to assassinate her?"

"That's a really, really obvious trap," Harin contributes. "I get that you're thinking 'stab her during dinner when her guard's down', but, like... no."

"I'm inclined to agree with Harin, but if we're discussing assassination somebody should go get Nior, it's one of his favourite things."

"We're discussing how best to kill the witch! We have a standing invitation to her creepy palace; I say we could ambush her while she expects us to be dumb kids, Harin says she'd have unacceptable home field advantage and probably wouldn't let her guard down. Mir leans Harinwards. Thoughts?"

"What does she know about us?"

"...kind of a lot."

"Arlen."

"Well, she asked!"

"That might make things a little more difficult."

"Really she just knows Harin's good with a stick and he's tall, and both of us can use knives, and that you two're short and really smart. But it does mean she's not going to let her guard down, yeah."

"It also rules out any strategy that relies on her not knowing how many of us there are, for example."

"Man, I hadn't even thought of that. This is why y'all are smart."

Nior snorts.

"Anyway, weren't we going to go off and meet with... that guy? He might have a plan better than three twelve-year-olds and an Arlen can come up with."

"Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver are ready to go as soon as we are."

"Shall we, then?"

"Let's."