Title: Blizzard Tidings

Summary: It is Christmas, and Eustace and Jill are shivering together in a tent in the midst of a blizzard in the midst of a campaign.

Chronology: This occurs soon after the events of the Silver Chair. As background information, Rilian was crowned soon after the death of his father but riots sprung up throughout Narnia, instigated by those who believed the newly-returned prince was an imposter. The worst of these riots was in the town of Beruna, to which Rilian, Eustace, Jill, and a division of the army are currently on their way.

A/N: This would be a Christmas one-shot that I wrote at the beginning of November and meant to post over the holidays… except I forgot. So, it's now a month after Christmas but better late than never, yes?

-x-

There is a terrific storm outside the tent. Eustace lays on his cot and listens to the whistling of the wind and the sound of snow being thrown against the fabric walls. He wonders what would happen if the entire structure were to just collapse without warning - would he suffocate beneath the weight of fabric and snow, or would there be an air pocket to sustain him until help arrived?

If he could push away his illogical fears for long enough, he'd have an easier time believing the tent to be safe. He'd watched the satyrs drive the pins in the ground and tie the ropes; he'd offered to help, even, but had been assured that everything was taken care of. And this was certainly not the first tent they had ever pitched, judging by how efficient the chaps had been about the whole matter. Logic should dictate that there is little chance of structural failure. And besides, Jill is clearly not bothered at all.

He rolls about onto his stomach and looks across the tent to her - it really is not at all that far a distance because the tent is so very small. The end of her cot is at the head of his, meaning he has to lift his head to look over the lump in the blanket where her legs are hidden. He cannot quite see what she is doing, but he can tell that it involves a book. If not reading, she is probably writing in her journal, a habit picked up since their return to Cair Paravel with Rilian. Only he cannot hear the scratching of pen tip to paper, which means she is reading after all.

Eustace raises himself up on his elbows to get a better look. Jill does not even bother to look up, probably because she is so engrossed in her reading. He knows better than to wait for her to speak but also knows from prior experience not to try talking himself. So he watches the careful way Jill reads, with a finger following the words as if afraid she might lose her place at any time and her tongue just barely showing in the corner of her mouth. She squints and rereads one paragraph again - he can tell because her finger slides back up the page - and then sits back to ponder something.

"Scrubb," she says abruptly, "Today can't be the thirty fourth day of the month already, can it?"

He does the math in his head and then nods a response. Jill frowns deeper and then flips the book around so that it faces him. Her finger points to the place she had just been reading. "Because it says here that today is Christmas!"

"Christmas?" He bends over the book and finds that Jill was reading a list of Narnian holidays. There are quite a lot of them, most of which appear to be either religious or fertility based, while others seem to be nothing more than a chance for a good party. And sure enough, Jill's finger rests above the entry for Christmas.

"Don't you think it is odd," Jill comments as he scans the entry, "that there is a Christmas here at all? I mean, we are in an entirely different world. Do you suppose your cousins brought it over?"

He seems to recall something the Pevensies had told him about Christmas in Narnia, a celebration they had had or a visit they had gotten or something, but it is a very muddy memory now. Clearer is the information he'd read in the Paravel library of the Cordial and Horn and Sword - the Holy Gifts, as they are called here. "They met Father Christmas," he tells Jill, "right when they first got into Narnia. So it must have existed beforehand."

"Father Christmas!" Jill repeats in shock, and it sounds as though she might go on, except Eustace goes on.

"It was right before the battle with the witch. They got presents."

"Presents!" She looks so impressed by this that Eustace wishes he'd known about Christmas before hand, so that he may have gotten her one. Too late now, he supposes.

The wind huffs again, shaking the canvas walls of the tent so that even Jill looks up in alarm. The fire in the middle of the room flickers feebly. "We haven't even got a chimney," Jill says, "Although - is that how it even works here?"

"I think he'd had a sled," Eustace says doubtfully. The fire flickers again.

Jill is reading the entry again, finger once more sliding along the page. "The holiday is celebrated with a feast," she says, "and a snowball fight - I wonder if it's anything like the dance - and gift-giving. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you."

"Neither do I," he admits.

A huff of wind batters the tent and the light of the oil lamp flickers in protest. Jill purses her lips. "No chance of a sleigh getting through that. I suppose we'll have to accept the inevitable and conclude that the only gifts we are receiving are each other's presence."

Eustace snickers and Jill looks superior and pleased at the success of her pun. She leans back and closes the book rather decidedly. "Happy Christmas, Eustace. And I think I'm ready to sleep, now."

He's used to her sudden decision to sleep; Jill was exactly the same all the journey through Ettinsmoor. One moment, she'd be carrying on a conversation with Puddleglum about the likelihood of spotting any geese so far north; next, she'd be interrupting her own sentence to decide she was ready for bed. It is an odd quirk, to be sure, but Eustace had gotten accustomed to it soon enough.

Jill scrunches down beneath her covers until only the tip of one ear and her mouse-brown hair are showing. Eustace listens for her to finish moving before he leans over to the stand on which the oil lamp sits. "Night, Pole," he says, and a muffled reply comes from the lump of blankets in the other bed. And with that, Eustace extinguishes the lamp and bathes the tent in darkness.

It seems much colder the minute the light is gone, which is clearly just his head playing tricks on him. Eustace pulls his blankets tight around him and squeezes his eyes, pretending he's in his warm bed at Cair Paravel or on the hot, sticky Lone Islands. If he can convince himself, just for a moment, that he's somewhere hot, surely he won't realize just how cold it really is.

A hot fire and hot bed and hot, sticky air, he imagines. The picture in his mind has almost become real when a sudden burst of cold swirls about over his head. It's such a shock that Eustace sits up in alarm, while Jill whimpers from her bed.

"Sirs," cries the messenger standing in the opening where the tent's flap had last been tied down. Snow is swirling all about the space.

Eustace waves at the messenger irately until he realizes that in the dark it's near impossible to see the action. "Come in, if you have to. But don't leave the tent flap open."

"Pardon," the messenger responds, and steps inside, pulling the flap closed behind him. One last puff of snow lands on Eustace's face before he manages to wipe it away. "Sirs, the king requests your presence in his tent at once."

If he were still in the wilderness, there wouldn't be such disturbances after lights out - except, of course, for waking up for night's watch. Eustace decides that however irritating a summons from the king may be, he much prefers it to staying up half the night to watch for stray giants.

Jill doesn't at all move until Eustace is out of his bed and has lit the lamp again; then, slowly, she emerges from her cocoon of covers. "Did he say what he needed us for?" she asks, and the messenger nervously shakes his head.

Eustace doesn't bother to dress completely - the tunic and trousers he'd worn to bed are the same he'd worn all day, and he completes the outfit by pulling on a leather jerkin and his heavy, wool cloak. When he looks up, Jill is waiting with her own cloak.

The king's tent isn't that far from theirs, not really. In the thick of the swirling snow, however, it might as well be the End of the World; he and Jill find themselves battling against the wind as snow crawls down their backs, struggling not to fall behind as the messenger leads them forward. Eustace would have thought it wouldn't seem so miserable after that storm outside Harfang but apparently snowstorms aren't something one can grow accustomed to easily.

A gleam in the midst of the swirling grey grows until they find themselves standing outside the king's tent. The messenger is the first to duck inside; Eustace shivers and pulls his cloak tighter around himself, stamping his feet to keep them warm until Jill has stepped through the opening and it's his turn.

The king's tent is much larger than their own - fittingly so, as it also serves to house impromptu meetings and strategic planning. King Rilian is standing off the right, the cup in his hand held against his chin and a look of astonishment on his face. On the other side of the room is a large man with a thick, grey beard standing over a full velvet bag.

Eustace may have heard the stories from his cousins, he may have discussed the details with Jill, but he had certainly not held much hope to ever meet the man himself. He supposes this would be a good time to greet the man but although his mouth has opened, not a word came out. It seems that Rilian is similarly stunned, and the messenger is hesitantly shifting from one foot to the next.

It is Jill who is the first to step forward and curtsy in her awkward, hesitant manner. "Happy Christmas, sir."

"Indeed it is," says Father Christmas, "Although not, I fear, as happy as it could be. It seems that the result of your quest has only led to more strife in this country."

"We're sorry," Eustace manages.

The man turns to him and fixes him in his stare. "I did not mean to say that your actions were wrong but merely commenting on the political climate. Each action you take shall have consequences; it is up to you to decide how to respond to these."

"Yes, sir," Eustace says, and Jill repeats his words.

"But let us turn to lighter talk," Father Christmas continues, "This is the first Christmas in a great many years to be graced with the presence of children from Beyond World's End. As such, I come with gifts for the both of you." He bends down to reach into the sack at his side. Somehow, despite how very full the bag is, the item he is looking for is easily located.

"Jill Pole," he says, and she steps forward in anticipation. He holds out his hand, and on it rests a bronze chain that gleams in the lamplight. "For you, I give the gift of disguise. This is not infallible; should someone know to look through the spell they shall see your true identity. But it will help, I think."

Jill takes it in her hand with a murmured thanks, fingering the links with reverence. There is a pendent hanging from the chain, a six-point star with a shining emerald in the centre.

Father Christmas is again straightening from his bag. Eustace steps forward and for one moment feels disappointment at the sight of the leather-bound book. Couldn't he have received a weapon like his cousins or an enchanted chain like Pole?

"For you, Eustace Scrubb," Father Christmas says, "Knowledge can be a tool, one that must not be abused. This book shall open to any page that rests in the library of Cair Paravel, provided you know what you are looking for."

"Thank you, sir."

Eustace is so wrapped up in examining his book - the leather is a gorgeous, faded red, the pages a clean and crisp white - that he hardly notices as the messenger is given a new dagger. And then, with a jolly laugh and a proclaimed, "And a happy Christmas to you all!" Father Christmas sweeps up his bag and strides out into the storm.

Rilian shakes himself as though waking from a trance. "Of all the things I had expected to encounter on this campaign, Father Christmas was not one of them."

"Did he even give you a gift?" Jill asks in concern.

At the query, Rilian lifts a shining silver sword and a shield emblazoned with the red lion. "Never before have I seen a sword like this," he says, "save for the Holy Sword of King Peter."

-x—

End.