So the thing that bugs me about The Chronicles of Narnia is that the events that occur between the books are never properly explained. This is basically what happens in the White Witch's takeover, so it occurs between The Magician's Nephew and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

And that is an all-too long explanation of the thought process behind this fanfic. Enjoy!

The wind howled as the storm beat at the great, stately house belonging to Professor Digory Kirke. The professor, now a middle-aged man, sat at the desk in his study, smoking a pipe. The house, once belonging to his Ketterley relatives, had long since passed into his possession. What with all the traveling he did, and the house being somewhat of a famous house, he'd recently hired a housekeeper named Mrs. Macready, a woman a bit younger than him but well-suited for the job. On this stormy night, however, the professor was thinking not of Mrs. Macready or anything to do with his big country house. No, tonight his thoughts were on a small little tree nearby a house in London.

It was the house he'd grown up in, when he had been a child and his mother had been sick, forcing them to live at her siblings' house. When his crazy Uncle Andrew had been a Magician and created magic Rings that would transport you to different worlds, and he and his friend Polly had indeed gone to different worlds: Charn, the dying world where they awakened the Empress Jadis; and Narnia, the good new land born before their very eyes, and ruled over by the Lion Aslan and protected by the tree that Digory had planted himself from an apple that granted eternal youth and beauty. From that tree he had taken an apple to give to his dear mother, and the core that he had tossed had landed and grown into a tree itself. The tree in Engand was now an old apple tree (though its counterpart in Narnia was assuredly older) and such a gale was blowing that the professor feared that the tenacious, sturdy tree, which had withstood countless winds and storms, might finally break. But there was nothing to do but to wait and worry; he could hardly get to London now.

The call that Digory received after the storm broke was a sad one indeed; the beloved tree had fallen in the storm. Although there was nothing to be done, he could hardly allow the dear tree to be commonly cut up for firewood. So he had it brought to his home in the country, where it was made into a wardrobe. Once it was finished, he thought it rather lovely. The woodwork was exquisitely done, with a carving of two crowns framed by branches on the top of the door, a carving of a tree in the middle, and a carving of the rising sun on the bottom. He had it placed in a spare room in the upstairs, not knowing that someday a little girl would step inside and find herself in quite a different place than the back of a wardrobe. He also could not know that the falling of the tree meant a great deal more in Narnia. For as the tree in England had been felled by the storm, so its counterpart in Narnia had fallen also, and dark days were about to descend on that land.

King Alegor of Narnia sat worriedly, waiting for the news to return. One of the worst storms ever to hit Narnia had raged through Lantern Waste a week ago, hitting hardest in the Wood of the Tree. He had sent messengers out to the Wood to determine if the tree that was Narnia's protection still stood. Now he had only to wait, hoping that the news was good.

His wife, Queen Deniver, sat on her throne next to his, watching him. She placed her hand on his comfortingly, trying to silently assure him that everything would be fine.

One of the court heralds came rushing in. The messengers were back, he told the king. Alegor stood up as they entered, cutting them off as they tried to bow in welcome. "Never mind all that," he said impatiently. "What is the news?"

The chief messenger's crestfallen face was answer enough. "The tree has fallen, Your Majesty. The storm was too much for it."

Alegor's face was ashen. "Then that is it," he said quietly. "We are on our own now. Our protection against the Witch of the North is gone."

Deniver stood and came to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. He covered hers with his own, so much larger than her delicate hand. Alegor seemed to steady himself, then turned to his war minister. "Tighten the defenses around the land, especially in the north," he ordered. "I have a feeling that the Witch will not wait long."

Jadis, sometime empress of Charn, sat in her palace in the far north. She was alone; none who dared to come to the palace ever lasted long, and before long those who lived nearby learned to not come near.

Moodily, she stared around. Her castle was dark and forbidding– just the kind of fortress for a conqueror and empress such as herself. But it wasn't enough. She held sway in this land, but it was only because none dared to come into the mountains where her castle was. She wanted the land to the south: Narnia, the newborn country that that damned Lion and his boy had prevented her from taking all those hundreds of years before.

A shock ran through her. It couldn't be…but she knew magic when she felt it, and what she'd just felt was the ending of a spell that had plagued her for centuries. The tree was gone.

There was nothing in her way.

A wicked smile spread across her face. She could easily defeat those Narnians now, without their tree to protect them. Provided that Lion didn't interfere…but she had a feeling he wouldn't. Narnia was hers for the taking.

She swept out of her throne room, forgetting the palace with each step. It no longer mattered– she was in need of it no more. She would have a new home in Narnia, she'd see to that.

"To me, beasts and creatures of shadows and night," she called, sending the message across miles and miles of distance. "Be oppressed by the light no more. Take your vengeance. Fight for my throne."

Alegor stared out at the falling snow. It worried him. It was almost summer, yet the weather said that it was the dead of winter. It could be no one else but the Witch, he decided. Her magic was already beginning to take hold of Narnia, and that did not bode well.

A knock sounded at the door to his room. "Enter," he called.

Lord Aden, his war minister, stood there. "There are reports of attacks on towns on the northern and western borders, Your Majesty," he reported. "People and creatures there have said that they are being attacked by Werewolves, Hags, Giants, Minotaurs, all manner of evil creatures. They say that these armies are led by a witch, with a wand that can turn a man into stone. She brings snow and winter with her wherever she goes. They are calling her the White Witch."

Alegor sighed. He had known she would come, sooner or later. He had hoped they could have had more time to prepare.

"Send troops to defend towns in the north and west, and have a couple on the east in case she tries attacking there as well. The rest of the army will prepare for battle. We will have to defeat her all at once."

Aden nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Alegor turned back to the window. The snow would make it very difficult to fight, he knew. The army, especially some of the Talking Animals, would have trouble with the wintry conditions, particularly because it was supposed to be late spring right now. He only hoped that he wasn't gambling everything on one final battle.

Jadis looked upon her new palace with approval. It was similar to her home in the far north, but so much…more. It sat between two hills, at the end of a river. The grounds were already covered with stone statues of her enemies. The Narnians' attempt at a battle was valiant, but futile; they had had no chance from the very beginning.

She glared at the statue that had once been the queen. She was a beautiful woman, but Jadis hated beautiful women, and spitefully she struck the statue, shattering it into pieces. The statue of the king she might keep for a little while. He was frozen in the position he had been in when he had charged at her, his face still contorted in a battle cry.

She swept into her throne room. The high wall behind the throne was lit by an eerie light. She rather liked it. The throne was hard and of stone, perfect for her. She sat down in it, settling her fur cloak about her, her wand held loosely in her hand. She smiled cruelly. Finally, she was a ruler once more, where she belonged: on a throne. Narnia would know her hand of justice as Charn once did, and this time she would not have to worry about the world dying on her.

Her wolves, her new guard and secret police, howled victory to the moon. Her heart, cold as it was, joined them. Now was the time of Jadis, queen of Narnia, the land of winter.

Ended up finishing this several months later than I thought I would, but there you go. Hope you enjoyed! Don't have much as per author's notes this time except REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Thanks, my lovelies.

Cheers,

~RAH