Chapter 2: The Fisherman's Mite

It was Christmas Eve.

The castle of Anvard rested comfortably between snow-covered mountains, a coating of powdery white all over its walls and grounds. Ice covered its ponds and etched its windows. Inside, all its fires were lit for warmth. Lune and Miriette strolled up the stairs from a fine supper with their closest friends. They heard toddler Corin shrieking happily in the nursery, and smiling to each other, quickened their steps. Inside the room, Corin's nurse was lining up a new set of beautifully painted wooden soldiers while Corin jumped up and down in his crib, throwing pillows and cloth animals.

The nurse looked up. "Your majesties, I'm sorry, I should have him asleep by now—"

Miriette said, "'Tis nothing to worry about, Aislie. Thou shouldst retire to the kitchens for some tea and chocolate, and we shall put Corin to bed."

The nurse curtsied gratefully and slipped out.

"Fa-der Fader Fader!" Corin cheered. Lune lifted him out of the crib and swung him in a circle. Corin started hitting Lune's head with his tiny fists. Lune laughed and reclined on the floor, holding Corin on top of him and allowing him to keep pummeling. They wrestled for a few minutes until Miriette reminded Lune that it was bed time.

"No hitting your mother now," Lune said, and passed Corin to Miriette, where she sat in a rocking chair with a few of the toy animals. She used the animals to enact a story where the Lion rescued the others, and Corin's eyes drooped until he was asleep on her lap. Then, ever so carefully, she laid him on the silk sheets of his crib and tucked him in his fine woolen blanket.

Lune put an arm around Miriette and they stood gazing fondly at Corin while the firelight flickered.

Suddenly the fire sputtered out and there was a shuffling sound in the chimney. A pair of boots appeared, followed by the only man who exceeded Lune for jollity.

"Father Christmas!" Miriette said with delight.

"Good King and Queen, Merry Christmas to you."

"We are honored to see you," said Lune, who had only met his hero once before, in his youth.

Father Christmas opened his bag. He removed a bundle of coarse brown and yellow cloth, which he unrolled into two small blankets. One blanket, he put back into his bag. The other, he draped over the side of Corin's crib. "You have little need of this, prince Corin, but in the small matter of gifts from me this Christmas, you and your brother will be equals. Anything finer, and Cor's guardian would sell it rather than let Cor have it."

"Thou knowest where he is!" Lune gasped, "of course thou dost! Please—"

Father Christmas held up a hand and shook his head. "My gift to both of you is the knowledge that Cor is safe. I am not to say any more, but if you wish, I will deliver a gift to him from you."

Miriette cried, "A gift to Cor!"

"A token of his royalty, or a book or tool to help him on his quest..." pondered Lune.

Father Christmas sighed, "anything of value would be sold before Cor could remember it."

"Mayhap thou couldst hold it for us and deliver it when he's older?" Lune asked, but Father Christmas gave him a look, reminding him of what every child in Archenland is taught—not to be demanding about Christmas gifts.

"A simple thing then, like a knife?"

"Lune, he's a baby." Miriette chided. "Father, what does he need most?"

Father Christmas gazed into the distance for a moment, as if he could see through stone walls and mountains to where Cor was. "Food, my dear Majesties, nutritious food would do him good. Or soap. Or hay for the donkey who is a comfort to him."

Lune would have sent all three in abundance, but he didn't want to seem like a demanding child again, so he turned to Miriette and said, "shall we choose something from the kitchens?"

"Wilt thou accompany us?" She asked Father Christmas.

"I'll deliver the rest of my gifts to the castle, and meet you there," he said with a wink, and stole into the hall with his bag.

They chose a pair of oranges and a bag of pecans. Father Christmas joined them in a mere moment, promised to kiss Cor for them, and leaving a plea in their hearts, was on his way.

~

The same night was not so freezing on the coast of Calormen, but it was cold. Wind cut through the thin straw walls of the lonely fisherman's hut, and although Arsheesh had wrapped both of his blankets around Shasta, the boy still cried. No doubt he was hungry and cold, but the only food in the hut was a cup of meal that needed to be saved for breakfast. Arsheesh had cleaned him and put him in dry clothing, given him the last of their dried fish, even held him and walked in circles around the room (the grandmothers in the village suggested doing this but it was tiring and made Arsheesh feel ridiculous). Shasta wriggled and wailed in Arsheesh's ear. Putting the child down in the crate where he slept, Arsheesh sat and gathered his robes about him. Shasta stood up, shedding the blankets, and began attempting to climb out, still making noise that people a mile away would hear.

"You won't get warm doing that!" Arsheesh snapped. His nerves were at the danger point. He asked himself, yet again, why he didn't get rid of Shasta. He could sell him, but no one payed much for a toddler. He could just leave him out in the sand somewhere. Tash knew Arsheesh wasn't cut out to be a good father, much less a whole family to a child, but he wasn't completely heartless either. Plus, if he abandoned the boy now it would waste the last two years of exhausting work. Tonight Arsheesh had done everything he could, and he couldn't stand another minute in the same room as Shasta or he would do something regrettable. He picked Shasta up, wrapped him in blankets for the eighth or twelfth time, and carried him outside, through the wind, into the donkey's stable. It's just as warm here as in the hut, he told himself. He laid the child down in the donkey's feed trough. "He's not to eat," he said, when the donkey put her muzzle in curiously. She licked Shasta's tear stained cheek, and to Arsheesh's surprise, he stopped crying. He sniffled, sighed, and closed his eyes.

"Thank all the gods," Arsheesh muttered, then went back to the hut to get what sleep he could.

~

"Aslan," Father Christmas whispered, and bowed to the large golden cat that was nestled in with the child in a feed trough. "This scene speaks of another, does it not, Great Lion?"

Aslan purred.

Father Christmas knelt and took from his bag the new coarse blanket, which he reverently exchanged for one of the old blankets over the princeling. Then he took the oranges and nuts, and placed them in at Cor's feet.

"From your mother and father, who love you and miss you," he said, and set a whiskery kiss on Cor's forehead.

"One night's work finished, Aslan." Father Christmas reported. "Is there anything else?"

The cat moved a paw, indicating the old blanket Father Christmas had taken in exchange for the new one.

"Yes, sire."

Father Christmas carried the blanket into the hut and laid it over the sad, thin man asleep on a mat.

"It's not really a gift, it's your own. But you gave it to the prince and Aslan wishes it returned to you. I dare say you'll also take your share of that food in the morning. You've an important task, Arsheesh, for which you seem ill equipped. Why Aslan sent Cor to you, only He knows. May you have a bright Festival of Candles, and a Merry Christmas."