Lydia Hightower shivered beneath her uncle's overcoat as he urged the horse onward.

"Who are they, Uncle?" she shouted over the din of wind and the heaving breaths of the exhausted horse.

"I don't know!" her Uncle yelled, cracking the reins again.

The night was dark as pitch on Christmas Eve, as the four-wheeler careened upon the wood-flanked road. Lydia had no idea who was chasing them, or why. She know only that their pursuers followed them onto the straight, narrow road and now there was no where for the coach to turn and escape. A scream cut through the night as the coach veered off the road and slammed into a tree, turning on its side. Lydia pushed herself away from the wreckage, as the sound of footsteps beat closer…

Lydia Hightower woke with a start and a gasp, unable to recall what she had been dreaming about. She was briefly surprised to find that the comfortable bed she was lying in was not her bed in the home she shared in England with her Uncle William, but somewhere seemingly foreign to her. Looking about the dark room, however, she remembered the events of the nights before. As image after painful image assaulted, her memory, she laid back down for a moment, digesting what she knew of her situation, the majority of which was that she had no idea where she was and very little idea of how she got there.

Then she saw the figure of the curly haired boy, sleeping in the chair beside her. Everything about his costume was strange, from his red and gold embroidered tunic, to his soft pointed shoes and all the way up to his green velvet beret that crowned his dark curly head. His clothing was by no means the strangest thing about him, however. She stood quietly, and on impulse, Lydia reached to softly touch the point of the boy's ear. In response to the contact, his mouth twitched into a slight grin; Lydia decided he might be rather handsome. Such a strange looking boy. A strange, handsome boy. Bernard...That was his name.

"Bernard..." she said softly, letting the name play across her tongue, like a connoisseur tasting a new exotic wine.

As though knowing that she had called him, his eyes fluttered open and eventually fell upon her. Seeing that she had woken him, she backed away, like a startled fox.

"You're awake," the boy said. The boy's accent was quite different from her own; this didn't quite explain everything, but it was a start.

"So are you," was her cautious reply. For a few seconds, the two just stared at each other, neither aware of just what to say to the other.

"Where am I?" Lydia said, asking an inevitable question that would be approached eventually anyway.

Bernard seemed to hesitate a moment. "My bedroom," he said, rather succinctly, "How's the arm?"

"It's still quite stiff, but better, thank you," she replied, noticing for the first time how close she was instinctively holding her arm to her body. She looked around and saw in the firelight that his bedroom was decorated richly in reds and greens and gold stitching and the style was like none she had ever seen. She could not help but wonder just how far away from home she truly was.

"If I may ask," she said, "How did I get here?"

"I was going to ask you that. You don't know?"

"No."

"Well, what do remember? What happened last night?"

Lydia struggled in her attempt to remember what had happened. "Uncle and I were riding home. We had been at a party, and we were coming home. Everything was fine, until...there was fire and – and noise. We were attacked. I don't know why. There wasn't much time for questions. Uncle told me to run and hide, that everything would be fine. So I climbed a tree. It was all dark and I couldn't see much. But I hadn't climbed a tree in years. A branch broke and I fell." Lydia winced at the memory of the pain accompanying her shoulder being forced out of placed as she landed on something only marginally soft. She shook her head. "The next thing I remember was waking up here. And you."

"Maybe you fell in the sleigh."

"The sleigh?"

"My... uh...master drives a sleigh. You must have fallen into it and when he came back, you came with it."

"How did he not notice that I was there?"

Bernard shrugged noncommittally. "Who knows?"

Lydia sighed. She wasn't getting the answers she wanted. This place...she wished she could remember more, but she must have fallen unconscious quickly after falling in the "sleigh." And she wasn't sure if this boy was being exactly helpful. She found his presence comforting however.

"Now tell me, what is this place? It's beautiful."

"I told you, my bedroom."

Lydia fixed him with stern and skeptical glare.

"Well, you're a bit north," he said, finally.

"How far north? The Holmes estate? Of course, that wouldn't account for the strange décor."

"A bit farther," Bernard said, "And I happen to like my room, thanks."

Bernard sighed as she fixed him with an imploring look.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, and then muttered under his breath, "They never do."

"Why wouldn't I? Such a nice boy like you, why shouldn't I trust you?"

"Well don't say I didn't warn you. We're at the North Pole."

Bernard smirked slightly as Lydia absorbed this announcement.

"How long have I been asleep?" Lydia had been prepared to prove him wrong and believe what he said, but this was too...She shook her head roughly, as though this would magically make it all better.

"Only a few hours I think," Bernard said, yawning slightly. "And shaking your head like that won't help."

Lydia sat down on the bed and stared out at nothing in particular. Bernard seemed to notice something was amiss, because he sat beside her and tried to wrest her from her state of shock.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know it's a shock. Most people don't believe it when they first get here. Just don't...you know..."

"I'm not prone to fainting, Bernard, if that's what you mean," she said, not looking at him.

"Oh. Well, we'll get it all sorted out. Promise."

"I don't understand, though. This isn't possible. It shouldn't be. I was in England. What you're saying cannot be true!"

"I'm afraid it is, though," Bernard said, rather gently. He still didn't seem reassured that she wasn't going to have an emotional collapse on him.

"How?" Lydia demanded.

Bernard sighed, trying to find the best answer to that. He settled on the truth. "Magic."

That wasn't quite enough for Lydia, though. She rushed toward the window. Bernard jumped up from where he had been sitting, and tried to stop her. "No! Don't! You'll be seen!"

But it was too late. Lydia ripped open the curtains, and was almost immediately regretful that she had. Partially anyway. Opening the window displayed to her one of the most beautiful sights she had ever witnessed. Snow glittered everywhere, but nothing like any snow she had ever seen before. It gleamed upon the ground and on rooftops and frosted in the windows as if it had been glazed in diamonds. Despite the cold, there seemed to be an inexplicable warmth to everything that, despite being lost and bewildered in a strange place, she felt happy and strangely at home here. Laughter reached her ears and she looked down to see dozens of children rushing about the ground. White smoke floated from the chimney tops but with none of the ugliness of the industries of urban cities. This was a beckoning blissfulness unrivaled by anything else. This was a magical place and she thought of her Uncle William. It was like something out of a fairy tale, something out of a story, a story she had heard a long long time ago. It was as though the scene were a page ripped from a book read to a gaggle of children huddled around a fire, eyes wide as they eagerly listened to the magic unfold in the winter's tale.

She turned around slowly, unwilling to give up the peace the window gave her.

"Tell me," she said, carefully, "How does a boy so young as yourself have such old eyes?"

"I'm older than I look," was his answer.

She walked to Bernard, who stared back at her, unsure of how she would react. She reached up toward the side of his head, gently brushing curls away.

"Watch the hair!" he exclaimed, trying to bat her hand away. She remained determined, however. He twitched slightly as she brushed her fingers over the point of his ear.

"Oh my goodness," she said, softly, "You're an elf!"

A/N: Yes, Bernard does have ticklish ears.