dedicated to: Leah

xXx

The horses jostled to a halt, and Edmund shivered in spite of his two cloaks and the scarf tied within an inch of choking him.

"Ho, majesties!" called an old fox from the feasting party Peter had stopped to greet, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas yourself!" smiled Peter as Lucy jumped off her pony to play chase with the baby squirrels dodging in and out of the snow-laden trees.

Edmund knew he should have greeted them too. A couple of the satyrs even gave him a wave and a cheer. But instead his eyes fixed on the goblet clutched in the fox's hand, raised in a toast so very much like the last Christmas in Narnia.

Suddenly the blood red wine turned grey and froze, color draining from the raised paw as the fox turned to stone in a fraction of a second.

Edmund's heart jumped, but then he blinked and everything was back to normal, red wine sloshing over the edge of the goblet. There was no stone, no statue, and yet the pounding in Edmund's chest only quickened.

He glanced around at the others, none of whom seemed to have noticed anything at all. He loosened his scarf and slipped off his horse, landing hard on his feet and turning quickly away from the party.

"What's up Ed?" asked Peter.

"Oh, I think I dropped my other glove just back here." He waved a bare hand as he wadded the hastily removed garment tight in the other, hurrying off into the thick wood. "I won't be long!"

Snow came up above his ankles even among the trees, but he dropped to his knees as soon as he was well out of sight, breaths coming in choking gasps, heartbeat pounding in his ears as his chest tightened.

It had been so real. No, it was real, just not this time.

Why was she still in his head?

He was supposed to be different now, it was supposed to be better! Even the creatures seemed happy, so why was last year still so real to him?

He slumped against the gentle slope of a birch tree, trembling as hateful tears burned the backs of his eyes.

It was several minutes before he heard the crunch of footsteps, and by the time he noticed, it was too late to compose himself before Susan stepped into view just a few yards away.

"Edmund, what-"

He looked down immediately. There was no lie he could tell now that would free him from that gaze.

The footsteps quickened and then her billowy cloak brushed his knees as she knelt beside him, skirts buried in snow covered brambles.

His eyes widened. "Your dress..."

"Never mind about my dress," she said, her tone soft but urgent.

That was enough to make Edmund look up.

"What's wrong, what happened?"

He hated that kind of question, and he usually hated her babying tone even more, but right now he couldn't find it in his heart to push her away.

"It's- it's nothing." He took a hitching breath and fought the urge to rub his eyes. "I just..." He shook his head. He didn't know how to explain. He couldn't, she wouldn't understand anyway.

"You don't have to pretend it's easy," she said quietly. "It's only been a year. Peter and Lucy might not notice, but I know you're not yourself."

He wanted to make some retort, but it was true. Every breeze cut down to the bone, sweets tasted like ash in his mouth. Everything was a reminder, but the rest of Narnia danced and laughed as if nothing had happened.

There were bells and music and parties wherever he went, and he hardly met a creature who didn't wish him a merry Christmas with more joy than he would have thought could fit inside their tiny body. They never treated him differently, he was one of them now. But he still felt the chill deeper than anyone.

"I'll be fine," he mumbled, "Don't worry about it."

"How can I not worry about it? You barely finish your dinner, let alone go back for second helpings, you don't go outside, you tuck your scarf up around your ears without being told-"

"I always do that."

"Edmund Pevensie, how many times have I scolded you for running outside without a coat, let alone a scarf?"

Edmund sighed, taking in a lungful of icy air and blowing out an almost invisible cloud. He leaned his head back against the tree. "Isn't a year long enough?" he breathed.

"Just wait till you're older," said Susan sympathetically. "A year isn't that long, really."

"Now you sound like Mum." There was a short silence before he looked up at her. "You try to sound like Mum, don't you?"

Susan smiled. "Sometimes."

Edmund thought for a moment. "Do you always know what she would say?"

"Not always. But I try to imagine."

He looked down and studied his hands, bare fingers knotting with gloved ones atop his knees. "Would she be disappointed?"

"In you? Oh, no Ed, she would be so proud. And she would probably worry over you even more than I do."

The corners of his lips twitched up slightly. "Well then, maybe it's a good thing she didn't come along."

Susan ruffled his hair and he ducked away with a noise of protest, her expression one of reprimand usurped by a hint of amusement.

"Just give it time," said Susan. "Everything will come right with time, you'll see."

"Are those Mum's words, or yours?"

"Both."

Edmund met her eyes. He wanted to believe it. Everything will come right with time. Maybe, just for now, he could believe it.

"For now, though," said Susan, "What's something you'd like to do that doesn't have any, well, memories attached?"

Edmund cocked his head. No one had asked him anything like that before, and now he was struggling to think of anything that didn't remind him of last year.

"Chess..?" he suggested at last with uncertainty. Susan wasn't very fond of chess, especially after months of losing to him whenever he actually convinced her to play.

But she just smiled. "Chess it is."

He offered a small grin back, hoping it conveyed a little of his gratitude.

"Oh, we should be getting back," she said after a very long silence. "Peter will be wondering about us soon if we don't find that glove of yours." She plucked the wadded up cotton from the snow and handed it to him.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He pulled it on and wiggled his frozen fingers as Susan stood up.

"Ah, my dress," she muttered, twisting to get a look and the back. "I do hope it doesn't stain."

"Now you sound like yourself," said Edmund, pulling himself to his feet.

She shot him a look of sarcastic 'thanks,' and Edmund grabbed her hand and dragged her away before she could notice anything else wrong with her skirts.

"Where's Susan?" asked Peter late that evening as they sat around the foot of their enormous Christmas tree. "She's the reason we waited this long to open gifts in the first place."

Before Edmund could shrug, however, the doors opened and Susan came in carrying a large parcel that looked almost too heavy for her.

Lucy bounced to her feet and Peter moved to help, but Susan shook her head. "This one's for Edmund." There was an unusual triumphant note in her voice as she set the square package in front of her youngest brother.

She motioned for him to open it, and he tore into the crisp brown paper, then drew in a sharp breath.

It was the most beautiful, solid gold chess set he had ever seen.

He gazed at it for several moments in pure wonder, then looked up at his sister with round eyes.

"If you're going to go on beating me," she laughed, "I might as well have something nice to look at."

A grin widened on Edmund's face. "We must have a game!"

"After dinner," laughed Susan, "Let everyone else open their gifts too."

But Edmund barely noticed any of the other gifts, and over dinner he spoke of nothing but the perfectly cut rubies in the eyes of the knights, and the tiny gold battlements on the rooks, thoroughly distracted for the first time in weeks.

Peter and Lucy laughed, and Susan didn't scold him when he went back for second and third helpings.

The End