This is my first attempt at a Narnia fanfiction and at a series of Christmas Oneshots. These are centered around Peter and one of my OCs and there is a little bit of Edmund/OC but not as much. This is my first chapter and it isn't very good but considering that it is long past midnight and I'm exhausted, this isn't awful either. I hope that you will review, because I want nothing more than to improve... Also if each review could name a Christmas Carol, that might help keep the ideas flowing. The goal is to have all 15-16 years, depending on if you count this Christmas, out by Christmas, but factoring in how long it took me to make this chapter and that I just started today, that isn't very likely… But I' going to do my best to publish all that I can before school is back in session so….. with nothing else to say…. Enjoy!
Jingle Bells
Anya huddled deeper into the snow, the cold and ice seeping through her clothes, chilling her straight to her bones. She shared a glance with Susan, who had gone from being a complete stranger to an irritating snob to a comforting companion in a meager few days, whose expression of carefully controlled fear mirrored her own.
From the crevice in which they hid, the three Pevensie children, the Beavers, and Anya could hear the ominous pounding of hooves against a thick layer of snow, growing nearer across the ice, mingling with the menacing tinkling of bells. Mr. Beaver was out of their cave like a flash when he heard it, which seemed to Lucy a curious thing to do but Anya assured her, was quite intelligent as he could scramble to the top of the bank among bushes and brambles without being seen and determine the whether on not the Witch's sledge had passed or was stopped someplace nearby, awaiting them. The children and Mrs. Beaver sat, huddled together for warmth, grappling for some form of comfort in the nearness of each other. With her frostbitten heart drumming loudly in her chest, Anya begged for a song to banish her fear, sighing with frustration when the only lyric she located in the depths of her mind was the first line of Jingle Bells.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells. Jingle all the way," she sung quietly to herself, absently glancing at her fingers, which had begun twiddling on their own. When Peter's hand suddenly covered her own, she jumped and raised her gaze to meet the curious eyes of her companions. "Sorry," she murmured. And so they waited in near silence, the only sound the wind whistling around them, blowing wintry air at any skin exposed to the cold. They waited there, soundless and still, for nearly five minutes, until out of the quiet they heard something that frightened them all to the core. They heard voices.
"Oh!" Lucy whispered, "he's been seen. She's caught him!" Great was their surprise when, only moments later, Mr. Beaver appeared, calling to them from the mouth of the cave.
"It's alright," he shouted. "Come out, Mrs. Beaver! Come here, Son of Adam! Come here, Daughters of Eve! It's all right! It isn't her!"
Anya, who often spent her spare time correcting her sister's spelling and grammar, had the urge to comment on Mr. Beaver's poor speech but fought it since she was very anxious and he was clearly excited. So Mrs. Beaver and the children bundled out of the crevice, blinking in the unabashed daylight and covered with dirt and snow, looking rather unkempt and exhausted from their travels.
"Come on!" cried Mr. Beaver, who was nearly dancing with delight. "I hope you've all been good, because there's someone here to see you!"
"What do you mean Mr. Beaver?" panted Peter as he scrambled up the steep bank of the valley, puling up Susan, then Lucy, then Anya, after him. "See what?"
And then they were all at the top, and they did see. There stood a sledge with a team of harnessed reindeer, golden sleigh bells dangling from the leather straps that wrapped over their shoulders. But these reindeer were not the Witch's reindeer, as they were larger and brown in colouring, not white. On the great sleigh there sat a man whom everyone knew as soon as they lay their eyes on him. He was huge, with a rosy face and dimples which were almost covered by his frothy white beard, and adorned in a red robe as bright as hollyberries with a fur-lined hood. Anya shivered and imagined how warm and cozy such fur must feel like in this frigid winter, looking towards the Pevensies and their thick coats with envy, not for the first time since they'd met. However, Anya was stunned into a feeling that was both somber and glad at the very presence of this strange man, pulling her into a state of silence and stillness.
"I've come at last," said he. "She has kept me out for the longest time but I have got in at last. Aslan is on the move. The Witch's power is weakening."
Peter shivered with an odd kind of gladness, and saw his sisters do the same, all in awe at the unfamiliar pleasant feelings that such meager words instilled.
"But on to something a little less solemn," said Father Christmas. "I have presents to for you all. A new sewing machine for Mrs. Beaver and for Mr. Beaver, your dam shall be finished and mended and all the leaks stopped up and a new sluice-gate fitted. You shall find your gifts upon your return home."
Mr. Beaver was so pleased that he opened his mouth very wide and then found that he could not say anything at all.
"For Lucy, I have a cordial made of juice of the fire-flowers that grow in the mountains of the sun." He handed Lucy what the children assumed to be a glass bottle filled with a crystalline, red liquid, "But a few drops will restore an injured friend. And," he produced a small dagger, "though I pray you will never have to use it. Battles are ugly affairs."
"Thank you, sir." Lucy said as she timidly reached for the offered blade, "I think I could be brave enough…"
The old man chuckled, "I'm sure you could... Now for Susan," he offered her a beautiful white bow and a quiver filled with arrows, and, when she took it from him, he gazed at her intently. "Trust in this bow and it shall not easily miss."
"What happened to 'Battles are ugly affairs'?" Susan interrupted.
Father Christmas chuckled again, "And, although you seem to have no trouble making yourself heard, if you ever find yourself in need, blow on this." He handed her an ornate ivory horn, "and help will come to you."
"Thank you," Susan replied, reaching for the horn.
"For Anya," he continued, producing another bow, though this one was larger and made of dark wood, and a matching quiver, "a bow made for battle—I fear that you will make real use of this before too long. Also," he handed her a small leather rucksack, "to help you keep objects of import nearby."
"Thank you," Anya murmured, shocked at the beautiful gifts she had received. She slung her quiver over her back, fastening it into place, as she turned her attention to Peter.
"Finally, for Peter, these are your presents and they are tools, not toys. The time to use them is near at hand. Bear them well." With these words he handed to Peter a shield and a sword. The shield was silver and across it there ramped a red lion, as bright as a red flame at the peak of its life. The sword was weighty, but perfectly fitted for Peter, with a golden hilt. Peter accepted his gifts, both silent and solemn, for he felt that they were a very serious kind of present.
"And now"—Father Christmas said, suddenly less grave— "here is something for the moment for you all!" And the jolly old man produced a large tray containing six cups and saucers, a bowl of lump sugar, a jug of cream, and a great big teapot all sizzling and piping hot. Then he cried out "Merry Christmas! And live Aslan!"
He cracked his whip, and he, the reindeer, and the sledge began their departure. As they rode off, Lucy called after them, "Merry Christmas, Sir!"
"Merry Christmas," Anya thought to herself, absently fiddling with her pack. She paused when she felt something inside, which she promptly pulled out. She gazed at the object in her hand and gave a bittersweet smile, as everyone else busied themselves with the tea. There in her hand was a scroll, fastened tightly with a green ribbon, and addressed in cursive to Heather, her sister, lost somewhere in the wilderness of Narnia. Anya could only hope, as she sat between Mrs. Beaver and Susan for tea, that Heather had managed to avoid the White Witch and was spared Edmund fate.
The bite of the icy unforgiving wind was mingling with the bite of the merciless whip in the hands of the pitiless White Witch, who was shrieking questions at the two children in her possession: one, a dark-haired boy curled under a tree, attempting to block out the snap of the whip and the gasps of the second child, the girl under the whip whose gasps were quickly turning to sobs and screams of pain.
The Witch was practically giddy upon discovering the Daughter of Eve lost in the woods, but when Edmund had informed her that this girl was not his sister, but another Daughter of Eve entirely, she grew furious and lashed the pair of them, though the girl was getting far worse treatment then he.
Heather could smell the blood and knew that Edmund could as well. She tried to focus on something other then the lashes that she was certain were close to cleaving flesh from bone, but every crack of the whip against her back wracked her body with a new wave of pain and stained the snow beneath her with a sickening crimson. When tears finally flowed freely from Heather's eyes, Queen Jadis ceased her cruel treatment and turned to the dwarf.
"Bind her hands," she ordered, before catching sight of a thorny, evergreen plant that curled ominously from the snow. "Bind them with those," she gestured at the thorns, still furious that she was no closer to eliminating the looming prophesy then before. The dwarf cut the plant with his fiendish knife, binding the hands of the crying girl before she was tossed in the sledge. Jadis called to Edmund, who quickly clambered into the sledge, next to Heather, and she whipped the reindeer into action.
As they tore across the ice which, the children could see, was beginning to melt, Edmund whispered to Heather, "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," she replied. "Don't worry, we'll get out of this, I promise."
Edmund didn't reply, choosing to glance at his feet, his face hopeless. Heather sighed, ruefully repeating a song lyric in her head, "Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh."