Edmund had finally managed to push it to the back of his mind, buried under a load of questions, when the weather turned cold.
"Finally!" Lucy said cheerfully. "It wouldn't be much of a Christmas if it were mild and sunny, would it?"
Lucy, Edmund thought, would always be mild and sunny; it was no wonder the chilly, dismal weather failed to blight her. Christmas, for her, was a bright diamond bottle filled with the juice of fire-flowers, a cure-all, a clean dagger never soiled with blood or war.
Eustace, to his credit, refrained from rolling his eyes. Edmund counted it as a point in his favor. Jill Pole, his friend, looked uncertain. Edmund had overheard enough discussions between Jill and Eustace to know that she was not naturally so restrained; he supposed she was still in awe of the legendary Pevensies. After a moment's hesitation, she said, "I don't know that this is better. The wet weather reminds me of Ettinsmoor." As if to emphasize her point, a gust of cold, foggy air blew in from the front hall. She continued, "I had much rather have the sort of weather we saw when we got back to Narnia – the Great Snow Dance, you know."
"The Great Snow Dance?" Peter said, shrugging of his sodden coat as he closed the door behind him. "Eustace! You didn't mention that in your letter!"
"Peter!" Lucy exclaimed, jumping up and running to embrace her brother. Laughing, he hugged her back.
"I managed to surprise you, then?"
"Of course, brother," Edmund said dryly, rising to shake hands with the new arrival. "Lucy still believes you when you say you are too busy at school to possibly come before Christmas Day."
"And you don't?"
"Of course not," Edmund said. "For one thing, you still pretend it would be possible to get here on Christmas Day by train." Peter grinned and moved on to greet Eustace, then came to Jill.
"You must be Jill Pole," he said, sweeping her a courtly bow straight from Cair Paravel. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance."
Jill nodded shyly. "I'm honored, Your Majesty."
"Just Peter, if you please. We are all friends here."
Eustace looked uncomfortable. This was the first time he had seen Peter in person since discovering Narnia, Edmund realized. And Narnia had a way of opening one's eyes to subtle things. Peter truly looked Magnificent tonight. And why not, Edmund thought. It was Christmas; for Peter, Christmas was gold and silver and crimson, a sacred task. There might be a horrible moment where everything was blood and heat and hair, but it would be swiftly over, leaving a vindicated, worthy Knight of Narnia and a vanquished foe.
The thought rose again, pressing horribly. What had Christmas brought Edmund? He had thought that Christmas brought him nothing. He had thought – for years he had thought – that he had received nothing but forgiveness, that time when Aslan came to Narnia, and with that he had been content. He had never asked the price of that forgiveness.
Just then, Susan came from the kitchen with a laden tray. "Here we are! Hot tea, hot cocoa, muffins, toast, cake… Peter!"
Peter laughed and helped Susan set the tray on the table before sweeping her into a hug. "Good to see you, Su. I couldn't resist the chance to meet with the new Friends of Narnia," he said, indicating Eustace and Jill. "I see you're still playing the perfect chateleine."
Peter's words were warm and approving, but Edmund noticed Susan's smile falter. She didn't like to be reminded that she would never again be Queen in Cair Paravel. Edmund could see the strain as Susan tried to be the perfect chateleine, the perfect daughter, the perfect woman, as if the perfect sort of woman would be able to earn another chance to be the Gentle Queen whose beauty, graciousness and hospitality were legendary. The thought struck Edmund that Susan's Christmas was less pleasant than Lucy's or Peter's. Susan's Christmas was a choice between a weapon which could elicit violence from a gentle soul, or a tool for a strong, self-sufficient woman to cry for help like a damsel in distress. Christmas, for Susan, included a failure to protect Lucy from wolves, a failure to keep Peter from danger, a failure to keep her family safe and protected. None of these failures compared to Edmund's treachery, of course. But Susan – Susan might be able to understand.
These thoughts churned in the back of Edmund's mind while Susan quickly recovered her faltering smile, while Peter started Jill and Eustace telling the story of Prince Rilian and the Green Witch, while Lucy gaily interrupted with stories from the Dawn Treader and the Golden Age. No one noticed Edmund being quiet amidst the noise – it was typical enough for him to fade into the background amongst his siblings, watching, while Lucy laughed and Susan smiled and Peter – there was no question, Peter reigned. Narnia was here tonight, Edmund realized, and that made this Christmas all the sharper. Narnia was here when Narnia was lost, and here when Edmund knew just how much he had cost Narnia.
The hour grew late, and finally Peter stretched and declared himself ready to go to bed. Lucy immediately offered to show Jill where they would be sleeping, and Edmund returned to himself enough to offer to settle Eustace in. While Eustace was washing up, Edmund noticed the lights downstairs. Susan was still up.
Here was his chance. Edmund worked his way downstairs to find Susan seated at the hearth, staring into the dying fire.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, hoping to distract himself from his real problem.
"Jill," she said. "She wanted me to help with her archery. In case –" Susan's face crumpled – "in case she needs it when she goes back."
Edmund sat down next to her and held his sister tightly. "She'll never be as good as you."
Susan choked out a laugh. "Oh, that was mostly the bow, in any case. My shooting here would be nothing special – there."
"Of course it would," Edmund reassured her.
"Liar." Susan was smiling, though, her first real smile that night since Peter opened his mouth, so Edmund had something at least to make him feel better. At least until Susan wiped her face and said, "So, what was bothering you tonight?"
Edmund froze. This was why he had come down. He knew he needed to talk about it. But now that it came to the point, he was reluctant. "It was… something from our trip with Caspian this summer."
Susan nodded. Drat. Her pain at losing Narnia would not save him now. He sighed. "At the island of Ramandu, there was a stone knife…"
Susan's eyes widened. He was startled. There was an awkward moment, and then he pressed on. "And Lucy said it was the knife the White Witch used when she killed Aslan at the Stone Table." He paused. "But I'm guessing you already knew that.
Susan's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Edmund. I'm so sorry." And now it was his turn to cling to her, and he asked, "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because of this. Because we – no, I thought it would be too awful for you. Lucy thought we should have told you. But Edmund, if A-Aslan never told you either…" and they let go of each other awkwardly, the brother searching the sister's face. She took a deep breath.
"Edmund, I don't know if Peter ever knew. Lucy and I – we couldn't sleep that night, and I think He wanted the company. I think He would have sent us away if he could have. But He – He wanted to go, as much as He wanted to turn away. And I don't think – I don't think it was all about you. The next morning – oh, Edmund, it was so cold, and empty, and then the sun rose and He was there again, and He said – He said that he was fulfilling a Deeper Magic than the Witch knew, that if a willing victim ever took a traitor's stead, that the Stone Table would crack. And I think – I think He wanted to take a traitor's place, so that He could break the Table. Break the Witch's power to take blood." She looked at him in the eye. "You broke the Witch's power over life, in the Battle of Beruna. And you gave Aslan the chance to break the Witch's power over death at the Stone Table. I think that's probably the best thing any of us ever did, back there."
"Definitely beats finding a mast for a ship," came Eustace's voice from the doorway. He had the grace to blush when his cousins turned around. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't eavesdrop. I was just looking for Edmund and, well, overheard." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I mean – is it just me, or does it seem like Aslan takes all the rottenness and makes something out of it? Would we have ever found the Dawn Treader a new mast if I hadn't gone and got myself dragoned? Not that – not that it means we shouldn't try to do the right thing, of course, but I think that sometimes Aslan lets bad things happen so that better things can happen." He was gazing at the floor now, bright red. "Maybe."
Edmund surprised himself by laughing. "And maybe Aslan lets rude cousins eavesdrop so that sulky cousins can hear what they need to hear."
Eustace, if possible, got even redder.
Susan intervened, saying, "Perhaps we'd all feel better for a good night's sleep."
"Brilliant," Eustace mumbled, fleeing for the stairs. Edmund stood, and gave Susan his best bow. "Good night, Gentle Queen."
She rose, curtsied, and said, "Sleep the sleep of the just, brother." She smiled as he groaned, and departed for the stairs, leaving Edmund to turn out the lights.
What was Christmas for Edmund, then? A stone knife. A Stone Table. And the sun rising, a Lion defeating winter and death. Perhaps that wasn't so bad, after all.
A/N: So, I rarely write, but I was thinking about the Gifts and how Edmund must have felt after finding out about the Stone Table and it all sort of came together. Probably not at all like it did in my head, but oh well. Merry Belated Christmas!
Susan, in my head, left Narnia behind her eventually in her pursuit of perfect "womanhood", but this is set right after the Silver Chair - 1942, according to Lewis's timeline - and there are a good seven years before the Last Battle in which Susan can leave her belief. For now, she's still a Friend of Narnia.
(And if anyone is concerned about the fact that the Stone Table has clear parallels to a story which is most certainly NOT related to Christmas - 1) I didn't want to be as anvilicious with the allegory as Lewis is in TLB, and 2) The first Christmas involved neither a gift-bearing red-clothed man in a sleigh, nor reindeer, nor snow. I figure the connection between our "Christmas" and the Nativity is pretty darn loose, and there are only two days between the Pevensies' first Narnian Christmas and the Stone Table, which makes a connection between them pretty plausible.)