Snowflake Waltz under a soft dim
Tumnus x Reader
Fandom -> Chronicles of Narnia
Requested by -> Anon
Masterlist
You sighed out through your nose, huffing a breath within the next second afterwards as you hauled in another basket of logs into the house—with the front door being opened—you're not finished, far from it, of bringing in the rest amount of good chopped logs inside—the cold breeze started to sweep in, threatening a fight with the ongoing chimney fire.
You felt proud, the egoistical and smug kind, of yourself for chopping wood and providing a furnace warmth for the house—for your husband and yourself—during such cold season.
Even though it's the season of Mistletoe, this years cold, in contrast to the last few ones, was much harsher and bitter lasting—frosting up, like a wild untamed and swirling snowstorm, everything with one single touch of their boney clutches into a frozen, snow clad, land of a mirroring winter wonderland.
Season of Mistletoe was meant to be a joyful month, it had been a blessing gift from Mr. Santa aeons ago, but thanks to the damned White Witch—Queen, as she likes to be called, Jadis—such joyfulness had turned sour, somber muddy—despite the sparkling snow, which reminds of fairy kisses, an beauty in itself, if Jadis hadn't grazed it with falsely gleaming.
Even the festival day of Holly and Poinsettia—which is about to be in less than three nights away—and is meant to be celebrated with the family and loved ones, might turn—no mights, it surely will be, it's obvious just as the delaying spring and summer seasons—into a sour dough day with no joy to celebrate and no love to share.
»Dear, either close the door and stay inside or get the rest of the logs quickly. The chimney is about to be blown out soon.« the soft voice, quiet like a lull, of Tumnus pulls you out from your thoughts.
Your basket of logs slipped from your hands, landing with a thud onto the wooden floor below, like a spooked deer you looked up—blinking owlish—at Tumnus, »Yes! I'm sorry my little lamb, I'll try to finish up as quickly as I can.« sheepishly you rubbed the back of your neck and walking out of the house—returning back to your work.
Tumnus shook his head like a disapproving Faun mother and in this moment, he did silly like felt like one—after all he did told you many times before, every mistletoe seasons—a repeat of the same and same as if your head is flocking out like dear Mrs. Mother Holle pillows—not to leave the front door open, when you're bringing in the logs.
For a moment Tumnus returns back into the kitchen, getting the steaming cups of (f.flavour) tea ready and finishing up the plate filled with pastries goods, before walking into the living room—setting it down onto the table and tending to the fire once more.
Tumnus father—his soul resting in the leaves of the old forrest garden—had once told him in a kind voice of teaching, when he had been a little chubby faun, that a chimney would only radiating off a good and healthy warmth if the chimney is being taken care of with gratitude ans respecting love—so Tumnus tends, very seriously and well, to every chimney fire like how a mother faun would do and care for her children.
»TUMNUS!«
Tumnus, when the front door has been slammed open—letting in much more than a simmering breeze of cold winter—jumped on his hooves, got just a tiny bit, embarrassing tiny, spooked by you and your loud proclaiming of his name.
»Dear.« Tumnus sighed, the fire had gotten out instantly with the second blow of frosty breath, turning to you, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue ready to be said, »The fire–« further with speaking Tumnus couldn't come, yelping out in surprise when you—with a few strides inside—grabbing his hand and pulling him outside into the white landscape.
»Tumtum! Tumtum look!« wildly like a flapping bird you made gestures around you, showing something off to Tumnus, who isn't deciphering aware of what exactly you wanted to show him.
And then, when the first flock of many dances down—like glittering kisses of fairies—in front of his eyes, Tumnus realised what has gotten you excited like a honey bee in the glowing summer.
»Is it really snowing?« there's hesitation in his voice, when he asked timidly for a validation from you.
Although the lands of Narnia resembles a wonderland of winter now, such seasonal change had not come normally as it should this year—within one single night the colourful scenery of autumn had been turned, with a raging blizzard, into the current sight of snowy white.
Normally, if the white witch Jadis isn't fumbling around with mother natures clock and covering the other seasons with her own icy one, the beginning of mistletoe season would be started with the very first snow fall—though since that got skipped over, it's a wonder, with how thick the clouds are being, that a flocking of snow was still possible.
»It really is, Tumnus!« you take his hand once more in your, a smile on your lips, twirling your husband around in the snow.
And for a moment, as Tumnus and you waltzing through the snow—joined by the snowflakes within their own ambience—humming a jolly song in tune together, the cruel frozen winter is being forgotten and all that remains, what really matters in a moment like this, was Tumnus and you—feeling a rush of nostalgia and love, because this glows like a reminder of your first snowy dance with Tumnus and dancing here with him, under snowflakes, is better than any present to be might given to you.
