Chapter 10

The Great Thaw approaches

The night seemed to drag on forever. Peter couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried. He kept his sisters close to him, allowing each to lay her head on his lap as a pillow. Lucy would whimper every now and again, relaxing when Peter would smoothe her hair and kiss her cheek. The beavers slept a few feet away from the Pevensie children, curled up tightly side by side to keep warm when the fire went out.

The vision of the stone badger was still embedded in his Peter's mind, along with the deep sorrow on Mr. Beaver's face at the discovery of his friend's fate.

"What are you drawing?" Peter asked, reaching over to snatch the portfolio, and Ethan held it out of his reach.

"Oh no you don't," he laughed.

"You're drawing me, aren't you?" Peter asked.

"No," Ethan retorted.

"Come on, then, let me see," Peter begged, making a lunge for it again, and grabbed it by the edge.

"Peter, you dolt!" Ethan cried as the train began moving, and his friend gave him a mischevious smile. "Oh, all right, I suppose you can have a look. It's nothing well…important."

Peter flipped open the top of the portfolio, and peered down. He studied the drawings closely for a moment, and Ethan stared, waiting anxiously for his opinion.

"What are these?" he asked, and Ethan bit his lip.

"You'll think I'm mad, Peter," he said quietly, and Peter snorted.

"Too late," he teased, and Ethan shook his head.

"No, really. I…well…they're supposed to be fairies."

Peter stared at him. "Huh?"

"You know, fairies. The little people with wings. Like Tinker Bell in Mr. Barrie's book 'Peter Pan'."

Peter felt a tear fall down his cheek as he remembered one of the last conversations he'd had with his best friend, Ethan. When he'd first heard the news of Ethan's death, it had come to him like a blow in the stomach with a hammer. He'd lived like a ghost for at least a week, refusing to eat or drink at all, feeling very depressed. Susan sat with him the entire time, and it wasn't until Ethan's mother drilled a bit of sense into Peter, that he slowly came into his right mind again.

However, now that he was in Narnia, he couldn't help but remember that particular conversation on the train back from school. Hadn't Ethan mentioned being in a place where animals talked, and there were in deed such things as fairies?

"But he said he was dreaming when he told me," Peter muttered, his eyes fixed on Mr. and Mrs. Beaver; Mr. Beaver was snoring loudly, and every so often, his great tail would slap the dirt ground as if he were fighting a invisible enemy. More tears fell down his cheeks as he continued to gaze at the sleeping beavers, and he forgot about his sister's lying against him.

Susan gave a small grunt when she felt something wet hit her cheek, and her eyes blinked open wearily. She could hear someone crying softly, though she was still half asleep. When she managed to clear her head a little of the foggyness, she realized Peter was the one crying, not Lucy.

"Oh," she whispered, sitting up, and cringed at her sore muscles…sleeping on solid ground was not at all comfortable. "What's wrong?" she croaked, and Peter looked at her, swallowing hard.

"N-nothing," he replied. "Go on back to sleep, Su…it's still early."

"You're thinking about Ethan again, aren't you?" she asked.

"He's been gone two years," Peter said, "and it still feels like he died yesterday."

She bit her lip, and nodded. "It scared me to see you so depressed when we first told you," she admitted. "Mum and Dad didn't want me to say anything at first, since you'd just come out of a coma…and didn't want you going into shock or something, and relapse. But when you asked where he was, I couldn't…"

Peter hugged her, trying not to bump Lucy, who was still sleeping soundly. "I'm starting to fear that I'm forgetting him," he whispered. "Susan, I can't remember exactly what he looks like anymore. I can sort of…remember his voice, but…it's just a voice." He started to cry again, feeling like a complete idiot…here he was, supposed to be the strong one and caring for his sisters, and he was having a nervous break down.

"You won't forget him," Susan promised, offering Peter a handkerchief, which he took gratefully. "Honest, you won't. I know when you saw the badger tonight, it really upset you. But Ethan knows you'll never forget him…he was your best friend."

Peter nodded, and blew his nose. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I feel like an idiot." He turned away, and she smiled gently.

"What, you think we girls are the only ones who have the right to cry sometimes?" she hugged him tightly again. "You're far from an idiot, Peter. I'm proud of you…you've been so brave through all of this."

Peter closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Su…" he croaked. "why did Ethan die and I didn't? I almost died…why didn't I?" he exclaimed, startling Lucy awake.

"Is she…did she find us? Is…"

Susan touched Lucy's shoulder, and shook her head. "No, Lu, the witch hasn't caught us. Go back to sleep."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Peter, why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. "No, Lu," he croaked. "I'll be all right."

Lucy did not look convinced, but she knew better than to argue. It was still very dark; she had no idea how long they'd been asleep, or how long until the sunrise came. The beavers were still asleep, though, thankfully…Peter wasn't sure if he could bear having them awake and trying to console him. Mr. Beaver had just lost a good friend of his own.

"Are you all right?" Susan asked, after he'd calmed down.

"I don't know," he admitted, and she bit her lip.

"Just try to get some sleep," she said, watching as he attempted to lay down again, cuddling Lucy close to his side.

"I do hope Edmund is all right," Lucy said quietly. An owl hooted in the distance as if in hopeful agreement, and when Lucy looked up at one of the great pine trees, she saw the owl staring down at her with its bright yellow eyes. She smiled and gave a small wave to the creature, before turning and cuddling close to Peter again.

Meanwhile, Edmund was very miserable in deed, as Mr. Beaver had expected. He'd gone to the Queen's palace, expecting her to be pleased to see him. Instead, she was furious that he hadn't brought his sibling along, threatening to turn him to stone for his stupidity.

"Please your majesty, I brought them halfway," he'd said. "They're at the dam…with the beavers. My brother's sick, so they weren't going to leave anytime soon, I don't think."

The Queen did spare him, but she sent her pack of secret police wolves out to the dam to search for the other three, and bring them to the castle. "Kill anything in your path," Jadis told Maugrim, who had given her a satisfied, hungry smile.

After the wolves took off at full speed, Edmund hopefully asked for the Turkish Delight she'd promised upon his arrival at her home. The Queen ordered her dwarvin slave to take him for food, but he now found himself locked in a cell underground. Hours upon hours had gone by since he was first placed here, and he was practically numb with cold.

He sat against a wall of solid ice, staring miserably at a plate of dried, blackened bread on the floor beside him. A tin mug sat beside that, filled with plain water.

Edmund's stomach rumbled with hunger; he didn't eat at the Beaver's, so the last meal he'd taken in was at the Professor's. Sighing, he reached for the piece of bread, and attempted to take a small bite. He nearly gagged, and spat out what he'd eaten; it tasted disgustingly like charcoal. He anxiously reached for his tin mug, and raised it to his lips. What he found instead of water, was yet another solid block of ice…the water had frozen solid! He groaned, tossing the mug aside, and hugged his knees to his chest.

He wondered if the secret police had found Peter and the girls yet…or, were they perhaps dead? He sniffed and looked up at the ceiling…more ice.

"If you're not going to eat that…"

It took a lot of willpower not to yell out loud when a small voice spoke from the cell beside him. Edmund gulped, turning his head slowly, and found a figure curled up on its side against the far wall. It's legs, which, when Edmund got a better look, were those of a goat's, not a man's. In fact…Edmund waited with baited breath as the creature lifted its head wearily, and found it to be a faun!

Edmund wet his lips, which were dry and cracked, and reached down for the piece of bread he'd bitten into. The faun looked worse off than he; it was bruised and scratched, which probably meant the witch had beaten him before tossing him into his cell. "Mr…Tumnus?" Edmund asked, as he reached through the bars to toss the piece of bread to his prison mate.

The faun looked rather surprised that Edmund knew his name, but was grateful when he was able to reach and nibble on the bread. "Or what's left of him," he said softly. When he peered more closey at Edmund, he raised an eyebrow. "You're…you're Lucy Pevensie's brother," he said, and Edmund turned his head, afraid the faun would see his expression of guilt. "You have the same nose."

Edmund buried his chin against his knees, feeling his throat choke up. As he sat here, in the cold and gloom, he realized just how much he missed his siblings. He hadn't been the least bit sorry when he'd first told the Queen where they were; they hadn't paid any attention to him at all while visiting the Beavers. In fact, Mr. Beaver acted as though he were some type of criminal.

Though now, he was starting to regret his actions; he'd told the witch Peter was sick, and no doubt she would use that information to her advantage. His oldest brother probably had no chance against anything the witch did to him.

"Is your sister all right?" Mr. Tumnus asked, after a few moments of awkward silence, and Edmund looked at him.

"What?" he asked, his breath coming out in white puffs.

"Is Lucy safe? And…your brother…is he well Did the medicine help?"

Edmund lowered his head, remembering Mr. Tumnus had given Lucy the applesauce. "He is feeling better," he admitted quietly, "but he's still pretty sick…at least, last time I saw him. I don't know how he is now." He saw Mr. Tumnus' eyes lower sadly, and then both of them jumped when the main door to the cell flew open violently. The witch came in followed by her dwarf companion, and she towered over Edmund with a sneer on her face.

"My police," she said, her voice as cold as the ice in her castle, "tore that dam apart, and your siblings were no where to be found."

Edmund's heart raced madly; he was going to be turned to stone, he just knew it.

"I…" he began, though he was not quite sure what to say.

"You told me your brother was too sick to travel, did you not?" she asked, and Mr. Tumnus lowered his head.

"He is sick," Edmund told her, and Mr. Tumnus raised his head in alarm. "I…but he must have been feeling a bit better, so they probably left. I'm sure not long ago, though, because…"

"You are of no further use to me," she growled. "you are a nasty little liar, and a pure idiot at that. I do not know why I bothered keeping you alive this long." She raised her wand, and Edmund gave an anxious shout,

"Wait! They…said something about Aslan!" as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt as though he were going to be sick himself. The witch's expression changed completely…from fury to horror.

"Aslan?" she breathed. "where?"

"I don't remember," Edmund admitted, trying to think of the conversation they'd had at the beaver's dinner table.

"Please," Mr. Tumnus begged, his voice fearful, "he is not familiar with Narnia…he's not been here long. He wouldn't know about…" but he was silenced with a blow by the dwarf's long staff. Edmund cringed as the faun doubled over in pain, choking on a sob.

"I left before they said anything," Edmund admitted, and the witch scowled deeply. She was still not thoroughly convince that this boy was worth keeping alive, but he did know of Aslan.

"I suppose you are not a complete loss," she said, her voice a bit calmer. "they will no doubt be heading in the direction of the great frozen river, so we will make for it immediately. Prepare my sledge," she ordered the dwarf. "but first…release the faun."

Edmund, after he himself was unshackled and dragged out of the cell, watched as Mr. Tumnus was pulled out as well and unshackled. A cut on the faun's forehead was bleeding freely, where the dwarf had recently whacked him. He looked up at the white witch, breathing quickly from exhaustion and fear.

"Do you know why you're here, faun?" the witch asked, and Mr. Tumnus glanced at Edmund, who looked at his feet.

There was an uncomfortable silence once again, and Mr. Tumnus answered: "I am here," he began, "because I believe in a free Narnia." His teeth chattered as he spoke.

The witch scoffed loudly, and pointed her wand at Edmund, who covered his head with his hands, expecting to be doomed. "You're here," she replied, "because he…turned you in! For sweeties."

Edmund couldn't bear to look at the expression on Mr. Tumnus' face; the faun was staring at him in utter disbelief. How could someone related to the precious Lucy Pevensie be so terrible?

"Take him upstairs," the witch ordered, and the dwarf drug Mr. Tumnus away. "and as for you…" she pointed at Edmund. "you will come with me. I do believe you would like to witness your brother's death for yourself."

Edmund gulped as she drug him by the scruff of the neck away into the night.

The next morning dawned bright and again, icy cold. Peter awoke with a pounding headache, and was a bit feverish when he first sat up. "You're flushed," Susan told him, and felt his cheeks with the palms of her hand. "Will this ever end?" she added, as she took a bit of snow and dabbed it against her brother's forehead.

The beavers awoke shortly after the children, and they resolved to sit for a time until Peter gathered his strength.

"We can't sit for very long," Mr. Beaver said impatiently. "we've no time."

"He's right, Su," Peter croaked, shivering with chills. "fever or not, we have to go."

She hesitated, and at last, agreed to let him stand. "The poor dear," Mrs. Beaver said sadly, as he coughed and leaned on his sisters for support. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Have a bit of cider," Lucy encouraged, handing him the canteen from her pack.

"Lu…" Peter begged, but she pushed it into his hand.

"It helps, doesn't it?" she asked, and Peter had to admit that his strength returned a little everytime he drank the cider. He took a couple of small sips, trying to spare as much as he could for his little sister. Surely she would get thirsty with all the walking they were going to be doing.

"Thank you," he said after he returned the canteen, and she gave him a hug around the waist.

"Let's go," Mr. Beaver announced, waving his paw to encourage them.

"Peter can't run," Susan said firmly, and Peter touched her shoulder.

"Su, stop trying to sound like mother all the time."

She sighed heavily, allowing him to hurry ahead.

"Come on, Lucy," Susan encouraged, taking her younger sister's hand and urging her forward.

They'd been walking for a little over an hour, when Mr. Beaver gave a cry of alarm. "What is it?" Lucy gasped, clutching Peter's hand, and then they heard it…the sound of hoofbeats and bells in the distance.

"It's her!" Mr. Beaver exclaimed. "Make for that cave there…" he pointed to a small cave about ten feet away. "Dive!" he added, when they reached the top of it. Peter pulled Lucy and Susan down into the narrow, cramped space, and the beavers scurried in beside them. The sound of the sledge came nearer and nearer, until they were certain it was right beside them.

Peter closed his eyes when he saw a shadow pass on the snow, and he hugged Lucy tight—she lay across his lap, her back leaning against the cave wall. No one said a single word, until there was dead silence.

"Is she…" Lucy swallowed. "d'you think…"

Mr. Beaver sniffed the air, peeping towards the entrance of the cave. "Let me go check," Peter offered, starting to get up, but Mr. Beaver whirled around.

"No," he said sharply. "You're no good to Narnia dead."

Mrs. Beaver put a paw on her husband's arm. "Neither are you," she said softly, and he gave her a smile.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he replied thoughtfully, and stuck his head through the cave opening, before darting out into the snow. Lucy buried her face in Peter's chest, waiting for the blow, but a moment later they heard a shout of laughter and Mr. Beaver's, "It's all right!" he peered down from above, a wide grin on his face. "I hope you all've been good, 'cause there's someone here to see you!"

Peter and Susan stared at each other, and Peter gave a soft grunt as Lucy got up, and followed Mrs. Beaver outside. Susan touched Peter's shoulder, and smiled. "Are you all right?" she asked, noticing how white his face looked.

"Y-yes," Peter whispered, and she took his arm, putting it around her shoulders. "Lean on me," she said, and he did as he struggled to his feet.

The two of them made their way outside, and their eyes widened and mouths dropped. Standing before them was in deed a sledge, but it's driver was far from the white witch. It was a tall man with a long, burgeondy coat, and a grey beard. He was laughing cheerfully at the sight of them, and Susan swore she was going crazy.

"Merry Christmas, sir," Lucy said, stepping forward.

Father Christmas beamed as he came towards them. "It certainly is, Lucy, since you have arrived." He stepped aside, and she gasped…there was an enormous red sack in the back seat of the sledge.

"Presents!" she cried with delight, and Father Christmas gave another jolly laugh, just as Peter sneezed.

"Keshhhuh!" everyone turned to him in surprise, and he looked up, blushing furiously.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm still not feeling very well, sir," he admitted, and Father Christmas nodded in understanding.

"Yes, I've been told."

"You have?" Susan asked. "You know our brother's sick?"

"Of course he does," Lucy whispered. "Don't you remember the old song… "he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake?"

Father Christmas laughed. "She's right," he agreed with a nod. "I do know many things, Susan. But, without delay, I have these gifts I must give to you." He reached into his bag, and called Lucy to come to him first. Peter was preparing to sneeze again at that moment, but Susan stepped on his foot just in time to distract him.

"Thanks," he told her, and she nodded with a smile.

"But sir," Susan spoke suddenly, "I thought…was there no Christmas in Narnia?"

Lucy glanced over her shoulder as Father Christmas took out two objects from the sack: one phial filled with a bright, red liquid and a small dagger inside of a sheath.

"There wasn't," he replied. "but the hope that your majesties have brought is finally starting to weaken the witch's power. Yes, she has kept me out a very long time," he added, and then turned to Lucy again. "First, Lucy…the juice from the fire flower. One drop will be enough to cure any injury."

Lucy gasped, holding the small phial in her hand, and she immediately looked at Peter.

"I understand what you wish to do," Father Christmas said kindly, "but your brother's injury goes deeper than illness. Aslan will be the one to cure him fully, if he can."

Peter gulped, and Susan squeezed his hand.

"If…if he can?" Peter asked softly, and Father Christmas smiled. "you mean there's a chance I won't…"

"We shall see," he said, and then turned his attention back to Lucy. "and though I hope you never have to use it…" he handed her the dagger, which she stared at with awe. It was incrested with tiny ruby jewels at the hilt, and in a bright red leather case.

"But sir," Lucy replied after a moment, "I…I think I can be brave enough."

Father Christmas chuckled. "I'm sure you could. But battles are ugly affairs." He turned to Susan, who was looking at her feet, and called her forward next. "Susan," he said, handing her a bow and a quiver stuffed to the rim with arrows. "Trust in this bow. It does not easily miss."

She blinked. "Whatever happened to 'battles are ugly affairs'?" she asked quietly, and he shook his head, the smile never leaving his face.

"As you have no difficulty in making yourself heard…" he handed her an ivory horn, "when you put this to your lips ad blow it, wherever you are, help will come."

She swallowed hard, staring at her 'gifts', and wasn't quite sure what to say.

"I…" she swallowed again. "thank you."

He nodded, and then it was Peter's turn. "Yes, you will be strong enough to use this," he began, pulling a large sword from the velvet sack, along with a silver shield. He handed both weapons over to Peter, who still looked rather unconvinced…the sword felt so heavy.

"Bare these well. They are tools, not toys," he continued, before climbing back into the sledge. "But I must be off. Winter is almost over, and things do pile up when you've been gone for a hundred years. Long live Aslan…and Merry Christmas!" he gave a tug on the reindeer's reins, and the sledge moved away into the sunrise.

"Merry Christmas! Thank you!" Peter, Susan, Lucy, and the Beavers called after Father Christmas, waving and whistling happily.

When silence overcame the forest once more; well, silence, with the exception of the occasional bird chirp or wind rustle, Peter turned to Susan. She had slung her bow and quiver over her back, and was watching as Lucy giggled suddenly.

"I told you he was real," she said, and both of her older siblings smirked.

"Did you hear what he said," Peter began, after sheathing his sword again, "winter is almost over?"

Susan nodded. "Yes…why?"

"Because," he looked at the river, which was coming up on the horizon. "you know what that means…no more ice!" The girls gasped, and turned their immediate attention to the river.