Author's Note: It's a bit late for Christmastime, but someone told me recently that the best time to read Christmas stories is after the holidays have run their course. So, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own a lot of things, and these characters certainly aren't part of that tiny circle.
Nicholas had a long journey ahead of him. He was determined to make up for his inability to have run this journey in the past. He had done his duty by delivering the packages to these children, but something wasn't quite right.
"Weren't there four of you? I have an extra gift in my sack, and it's not for these old-timers," he told the children, smiling at his little joke.
As soon as the words left his lips, though, he instantly regretted uttering them. The shadows that gathered over the five---the three children and their two beaver guides---visages were nearly enough to break his heart. The youngest, Lucy, trembled slightly, and her eyes became as limpid as the morning dew. The elder of the two Daughters of Eve, Susan, bit her lip and closed her eyes, pain evident in her body language as she attempted fruitlessly to hide it. Both of the beavers looked crestfallen, but the most interesting of all of their reactions came from the eldest of the humans, Peter.
Peter's face, which had just a few moments ago been entranced by his new possessions, became pale and drawn. The wisdom and despair that bled from his eyes struck Nicholas like a slap across the face, and he found himself working to keep from staggering. The boy, it was clear, blamed himself for whatever their sibling had managed to do that was so...well, to be redundant, painful.
"He...um...the White Witch has him," the boy managed. The sheer sadness in his voice combined with the reality of that statement hit home for Nicholas. He nodded in sympathy, having known many of the Resistance that had fallen to Jadis' power. It was a sad affair, truly, and he couldn't help but be angry at her for having to force these children to suffer through this...pain.
"I'm so sorry. Is he...frozen?" Nicholas queried. A look of confusion came over them, and Nicholas felt a sense of relief. The boy was not frozen, at least...but had he died? His curiosity was quickly satisfied by quiet elaboration on the part of one of the beavers.
"No, Nicholas. He...betrayed them," Mr. Beaver cringed as he spoke the words of truth, and Nicholas turned to observe the Pevensies. It was hard not to notice one of them, actually; little Lucy looked up from where she had buried herself in her sister's coat and defended her older brother. This same brother, mind, Nicholas recalled, had lied to her and caused her considerable anguish---this Nicholas knew through the old adage of "He knows when you're naughty or nice"---and yet here she was, as fierce as a fire sprite, the likes of which Nicholas had not seen in this land for ages.
"He didn't betray us! He...just...he made the wrong decision, that's all! Edmund would never---he---he wouldn't hurt us on purpose! That witch must have lied to him!" she screeched, her voice rising and rising until it had nowhere else to go. She broke into tears, again, and returned to the comfort of her older sister, whose eyes also were not free of the watery substance that would soon bite at her as it froze in the cold.
Again, however, Nicholas was riveted by the sight of Peter. The boy refused, adamantly, to cry---the stubbornness of young lads, really, nothing special. What was interesting however, were Peter's lips, pursed to keep back foolish words, and his eyes, cloaked in faraway concentration, as if he were perhaps trying to find the spot where he had gone wrong in trying to guide his brother along the path to manhood---a path, indeed, that Peter traveled himself.
Nicholas knew now what he could do for this suddenly downcast quintet. Smiling, he closed up his bag.
"I have a gift for him, but...items seem so trivial, now. If---when---you see him again," Nicholas corrected himself mid-sentence optimistically, "Give him this," he instructed Peter, striding forward and giving the troubled teenager a brief, strong hug. Surprised, Peter at first stiffened, then relaxed into the warmth Nicholas offered, squeezing the old man like a shy three-year-old tugging at his mother's dress in the marketplace.
"Love is the strongest gift one can ever give," Nicholas advised, pulling away from Peter and heading towards his sleigh. He gathered up his sack, gave a hearty farewell, and spurred his reindeer team on to happier places with a last "Merry Christmas!" to the troubled group he left behind him. He had given them the tools they needed: a shield to ward off physical harm, weapons to inflict it upon those who would cause them undue pain, a healing liquid to soothe physical aches, and the ability to forgive others for their mistakes. His job here was done.