"Thought I'd find you here." Jaerin leaned easily against the doorframe watching his brother. The kings' old chamber was decorated with evergreens and ribbons and lit by snow white candles. Papers perched in precarious piles or splayed out across the desks while memorials scattered around the room, sad reminders of what had been. "Ariella was beginning to get worried."

"And Verit sent you after me." Jaer did not move from his seat at what had been the High King's desk.

"Nay, brother. I was already looking for you. 'Twas but chance that I was passing by and heard our wives' conversation."

Shoving away from the door Jaerin walked in, trailing his fingers along the leather bound books that graced one wall of the room. He paused at a well-worn volume—King Edmund had been particularly fond this one.

"Strange how the absence of four people can make a castle such as this seem so empty," Jaer said.

Jaerin nodded. "I was thinking much the same. It is in my mind that such are the thoughts of many this Christmas season."

"And ours not the least. Do you remember our first Christmas with them, Jaerin? We were so very young."

"How could I forget it? You were named White Knight that Eve and our father, Swordmaster. And then right after Yule, our sisters were kidnapped and we had to rescue them. Aye, I remember."

"This will be our first Christmas since then without them. Even when we spent the holiday in Archenland, it was because one of the Four was there with us." Jaer raked his fingers through overlong hair. He turned slightly and Jaerin saw the ink staining his tunic and marking his face. Leaving the bookshelves, he stepped closer and peered over his brother's shoulder.

"What have you been working on?"

"My final farewell. It was to be a tribute to the long Golden Age of their rule. I have been working on it for some time and meant it as their Christmas present. And now," Jaer sighed and rubbed at the stubble on his face. "Now they will never hear it. I do not know if anyone else will either."

"Why not?"

"I cannot finish it. Look."

Jaer gestured at the parchments where an intricate score was traced out. Jaerin picked up the first and hummed the lilting tune.

"That's Lucy."

"Aye. And here is Edmund." Jaer pointed to another page. "And Susan and Peter. And this is all of them together. There is the first battle of Beruna, here Peter's quest into the west."

"And there are the Ettins and the Telmarines, and the Horror." Jaerin shook his head in admiration. "And these are the feasts and the tournaments and the dances. Here are the harvests, the plantings. And…" He stared at where the notes ended abruptly, breaking off in the middle of a phrase. "Where is the rest?"

"There is no more. I have tried for weeks. Such was the end of their reign, cut off in the midst of glory, but I cannot end it there. They are gone, but not dead—this I know—and we will ne'er see our friends again." Jaer groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Narnia has mourned the Four but I cannot seem to do so. Each time I try to write the music to conclude their tale, I cannot. I see not the Four Sovereigns but my friends. Men who were like brothers, women like sisters. Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy—the sword, shield, jewel and song of Narnia and the friends of my heart. My heart weeps for them! My sorrow overwhelms the song."

Jaerin stared at the blank pages for a long while. "I know what you mean." He dragged what had been King Edmund's chair over and sat next to Jaer, straddling the chair backwards. "They were my family too. I kept expecting Edmund to jump out of a closet and declare it all a grand joke for the first weeks. But he didn't." Jaerin leaned forward and rested his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"They are gone, yes, brother. But it is not the end of the Golden Age yet. There is hope yet, despite the pain now. Surely, Farsight, you can see it."

"I don't know yet. I…I cannot. I feel that I must finish this before I can see clearly again."

"Then perhaps this will help." Jaerin pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out his breast pocket. "If I can turn my weeping to words, surely you can turn our sorrow into song."

Slowly Jaer reached out and took the parchment from him. Jaerin watched his brother's expression closely, hoping that this, his own final farewell to his best friends, would break him out of the despair that had clouded his vision since the Four disappeared. He swallowed thickly as memories swept unbidden over his mind. Writing his poem had assuaged his grief, not removed it.

"You wrote this?" Jaer's shocked whisper broke Jaerin's reverie. "It is perfect!"

"Hardly. But can you write music to it, Jaer? Can you finish your song with mine? Will you let us bear your pain with you?"

Green eyes met brown in unspoken harmony. "Aye, brother, I can finish my song with yours." Jaer clasped Jaerin's hand and squeezed it tight. "The melody calls me even now. Have you your flute?"

"Am I ever without it when I know you're in one of your music fits?" Jaerin produced the slim wooden flute from his belt.

Jaer grinned—the first such grin Jaerin had seen in months. "Then let us write music."