Disclaimer: Peter and Edmund Pevensie and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me.

HERE OR THERE

Peter sat shivering in the stone church where he and his family had always come. Of course, everyone came on Christmas Day. Just about everyone anyway. But somehow it didn't feel like Christmas. The war had changed everything. Money and rations were short. People had a lot to worry about. There wasn't much to celebrate.

"It's not Christmas without Dad," Edmund had said that morning when Mum had told him to hurry and get ready for church.

Peter had hushed him, not wanting to upset Mum more than she already was, but he couldn't help feeling the same way. Mum had wearily explained that Dad was having Christmas, too, but just in another place. Still, how could there be Christmas without Dad? It was Dad who hung holly boughs on the fireplace and high up on the walls. It was Dad who told them about the Baby Jesus coming to the world. It was Dad who took them to find a Christmas tree, and every year it was the best one in the forest. It was Dad who put the tinsel star at the very top of it. He told Peter that one day he'd be tall enough to do it himself, but Peter was still only twelve and couldn't imagine being as tall as Dad. This year, though, he had stood on a chair to place the star and had only just nearly fallen off. That made Mum smile, but it was a tight, teary smile, the only kind of smile she seemed to manage since Dad had gone to fight.

"It's not Christmas without Dad," Edmund had repeated, but mostly under his breath this time, as he rummaged under his bed for his Sunday shoes. They were already a little small for him, but they both knew he wasn't likely to get new ones anytime soon. He scowled as he tied them.

"I know."

Peter used a wet comb to slick back his hair and checked in the mirror to make sure his face was clean. When had he started looking so grim? Maybe he was more grown up than he thought. He had to be the man of the house now. He'd promised Dad. How he was supposed to do that when he felt so small and scared, he didn't know. Still, he had promised, and he would do his very best.

"But we have to try," he told Edmund. "Dad wouldn't want us to be sad. We have to make sure Mum isn't sad either. And the girls— well, Lucy doesn't understand. We have to make Christmas special for her, too."

Edmund scoffed. "It's time she wasn't such a baby."

"She's seven!" Peter took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "She's just a little girl. We older ones have to do our best to help her out, right?"

Edmund scoffed again, but that bit about "we older ones" had made him feel grownup and cooled his temper a bit. He'd been horrid all week, especially to Lu, and there was no need to have the little beast spoil Christmas Day, too.

Edmund only grumbled and pulled his jumper over his head. Then he thumped down the stairs, not bothering to comb his thick black hair at all.

Peter looked over at him now and saw that his hair was slick and neat. Mum must have wet her fingers and smoothed it back, something he always hated. Their eyes met, and Edmund made a face. Peter looked away again, but there was something childishly satisfying in knowing that Edmund would have to sit there until the service was over squeezed between him and a large woman wearing a too-tight cranberry-colored wool suit that smelled strongly of camphor. Mum was on Peter's other side with Lucy huddled next to her and Susan sitting primly on the aisle. The small church was full. It was always full on Christmas morning, but now, even with most of the men gone, it was filled to overflowing. There was so much to pray about, so many to pray for. People didn't always remember in times of peace and plenty, but they did now.

The vicar said something about the Lion of Judah, and Peter looked as he always did to the stained glass window that was at the end of the pew ahead of him. It showed the Lion of Judah and the Lamb of God lying in the grass together. Dad had said that was to show that the Lord was strong and gentle all at once. Fierce and good.

Peter had always liked lions, and he thought now that he might like to see one. A real one. Of course, he'd seen one in the zoo, but that had been a tired, spiritless thing, nothing like the ones in the jungle who were grand and wild and might do anything. He was sure, though, that they were always noble and wise, never petty like jackals and those kinds of animals. He'd like to see one.

The vicar began, in a low, gentle voice, to pray for all those who were gone from among them, those who fought for the sake of those left at home. Mum's hand tightened on Peter's, and he saw a tear slip down her soft cheek. Lucy was sobbing. Susan bit her lip and her cheeks were very pink. Peter's own eyes burned.

He glanced over at Edmund and saw he had his arms crossed over his chest and a fierce scowl on his face. But there were three dark splotches on his jumper that hadn't been there a moment before.

"Ed," Peter whispered, putting one hand over his.

"Get off," Edmund growled, wrenching away from him, earning a glare from the camphor-smelling woman on his other side.

Peter gave her a sheepish, apologetic glance and then turned to face the pulpit again.

"Those who are gone from us now," the vicar said, "we know, in some future day, shall return. And any of those who cannot return now, if they belong to the Lord, shall be awaiting us when we, in our own turn, leave this earth for heaven. There, in His glorious country, there is no death and no crying and we shall forever be with those we love and with Him. As it says in the Revelation, Chapter Five, Verse Five, 'Weep no more,' those of you who fear, those of you who have suffered loss, 'Weep no more, behold the Lion of the Tribe of Judah has conquered.'"

Mum's grip on Peter's hand tightened, and he dared once more to reach for his little brother's hand. Edmund's face was stony, blank, but his hand clasped Peter's, frantic, desperate, not wanting to be let go.

Christmas was still Christmas. Dad was still somewhere, and they'd see him again. Here or there, they'd all be together again, if they had faith. God Himself, the fierce, wise, noble Lion of Judah had said it would be so.

Peter believed it.

For Daddy, till we meet again.

Author's Note: Make sure and tell those dear to you how you feel. You can never say "I love you" often enough.

Merry Christmas and long live Aslan!