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𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵 𝑶𝑭 𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑴𝑨𝑺
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𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 the horizon, Mr Beaver decided to try and wake up the Pevensies and the Summers. The faint rays of sunshine could barely penetrate through the twilight lingering in the small house and the bodies of the teenagers still burned with exhaustion after the few hours of sleep.

'Come on, children,' Mr Beaver said as he shook Peter's shoulder. 'It's a long journey to the Stone Table.'

Peter groaned and rolled onto his other side, pushing away Mr Beaver's paw. It was in vain, as his dream already faded to the back of his mind and he opened his eyes. He almost immediately recognised Rosaleen resting on her stomach not too far away from him, her arms tucked underneath her head and when she shifted as well, the streak of sunlight fell right upon her still closed eyes.

The light woke her up before the beaver could, and Peter's breath hitched in his throat when in a flash, he could see the vibrant green colour lighting up like emerald under water before she moved her head to avoid looking right into the sunlight.

Though Rosaleen clearly startled as well by the realisation she laid very close to Peter ─ both didn't remember falling asleep this near to each other ─, neither of them moved away. Their gaze wandered over the other's face, observing each other in the half-light while Mr Beaver tried waking up Susan, and both couldn't contain a smile forming around their lips as an unknown but pleasant feeling spread through their bodies. The danger of being hunted by wolves and witches seemed to be far away at that moment.

'Good morning,' Peter eventually said, breaking the moment to his regret after he saw Alexander getting up and giving them an amused yet somewhat suspicious look. 'How did you sleep?' he asked, raising himself to a sitting position and Rosaleen followed his example, running a hand through her hair to get some strands out of her eyesight.

'Alright, I guess,' she answered but pulled a painful face as she stretched her back. 'Though I'm not used to laying on the floor.'

Peter grinned but his back was sore as well from spending hours on the flat, cold stones and he hummed in agreement. 'Me neither.'

The tiny house had a bed, but neither of the teenagers had fit into it as it belonged to the badger family and last night, the beavers had reluctantly accepted the bed for themselves.

Suddenly, the front door got pushed open and as the daylight streamed inside the living room, the short silhouette of Mrs Beaver appeared in the opening. 'Come, children. Breakfast is ready.'

Everyone stood up from the floor and followed the beaver outside where a small campfire crackled in the middle of the small town.

'Won't the wolves see the smoke?' Susan asked in concern, her eyes following the dark smoke that whirled up from the fire and stood in strong contrast with their white surroundings.

Mr Beaver waved it away. 'They might, but how are they supposed to know we made it?'

Alexander shot the beaver a look. 'Maybe because they know the whole village is turned into stone?'

Mr Beaver did not know what to say to that and Mrs Beaver's whiskers dropped downwards as she guiltily stared at her paws.

'I just thought we all would like some hot tea before we depart,' she said, glancing with her big and dark eyes at the teenagers.

Lucy smiled at the beaver, indicating that it was forgiven and she pulled her fur coat a bit tighter around her body before crouching down and taking a plate with a slice of bread on it and a mug of steaming tea. 'Thank you, Mrs Beaver. This is lovely.'

Peter followed his youngest sister's example and handed a plate and mug to Rosaleen. 'Let's enjoy this breakfast quickly before the wolves come howling back this way,' he said, deciding there was not much they could do about the fire now and it seemed a shame to let it all go to waste.

After their breakfast, the group set into motion once more; the beavers led the way while the teenagers trudged behind them. Though the wind didn't blow as harshly as last night and the sun managed to warm up the top of their heads whenever they walked across open fields, the muscles in their legs still started to burn from exertion as they wrestled through the thick layer of snow.

The sun climbed through the sky, describing her usual course as the hours passed and just when she reached her highest point, the group stopped at the top of a plateau; overlooking a gigantic empty plain of snow and ice. Rows of mountains peaked into the sky, almost as if they were trying to touch the clouds, and thousands of trees stood at the edges of the plain spreading like a vast and immense blanket of white below them.

Mr Beaver pointed at a mountain in the far distance. 'Aslan's camp is near the Stone Table, seated right atop that mountain.'

The teenagers gaped at the still tiny mountain.

'It's so far,' Peter breathed in disbelief. With every passing hour, he felt as if Edmund was slipping further and further away from them. He had hoped they could have arrived at the Stone Table today already, but it didn't seem likely by the looks of it.

'It's the world, dear,' Mrs Beaver said. 'Did you expect it to be small?'

'Smaller,' Susan answered while sharing a knowing look with her brother.

The group started to walk again and they carefully made their way down from the rocky plateau that had served as their looking point. The boulders were slippery because of the ice coating while the snow seemed to be set on gliding away under their weight, but after what seemed forever, they finally reached the vast ground again, although. . .

'Our path leads across the frozen lake, through the Shuddering Woods and over the frozen waterfall,' Mr Beaver announced as he pointed vaguely at their east.

'Frozen lake and waterfall?' Susan repeated, sounding alarmed and she glanced at the tips of her shoes. She wondered if they already stood on the lake as there didn't grow any trees near them at all.

Mrs Beaver chuckled. 'They've been frozen solid for a hundred years, there's nothing to worry about.'

Susan still didn't feel very assured but everyone set in motion once again as the beavers set the pace. At first it didn't seem that bad. The snow sparkled all around them, sometimes even shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow whenever the rays of sunshine fell just right onto it, and though the cold wind bit through their clothing with its invisible teeth, it did push them in the right direction. However, as the hours passed, the wind turned and the blowing waves grew in strength, as if it tried to force the group back whence they had come from.

The beavers glided over the snow with ease due the membranes between their toes, but the teenagers started to fall farther and farther behind as their exhaustion kicked in. Lucy barely had any strength left to properly lift her feet and she slugged through the snow, leaving a whole trail of lines ─ instead of footprints ─ behind her.

Mr Beaver glanced over his shoulder, back at the five teenagers whose eyes almost never blinked as they stared in front of them without seeing anything at all. 'Come on, humans,' he called, 'while we're still young.'

Peter let out a sigh, pausing in his steps for a moment to allow Lucy to catch up with him, and Rosaleen turned around as well when he no longer walked next to her.

'If he tells us to hurry up one more time,' Peter started, crouching down a bit and lifting Lucy on his back, 'I'll turn him in a big, fluffy hat.'

Despite her exhaustion, Rosaleen smiled and her grin grew even bigger when the beaver's voice shot through the air, indeed telling them to hurry up.

However, Mrs Beaver's next words froze them all temporarily. 'No! Behind you! It's her! The White Witch's sleigh!'

Rosaleen suddenly spotted the white cloud of flying-up snow as well, still far behind them but the cloud grew rapidly in size as the sleigh sped towards them over the ice.

Peter quickly lowered Lucy again, and they all started to run; the adrenaline rushing through their veins like wildfire and burning away their exhaustion.

'Make for the trees!' Mr Beaver shouted, still taking the lead with his wife, and everyone broke away from the middle of the lake as they headed towards the tree line.

Rosaleen ran as fast as she could and looked back over her shoulder, pausing between the first tree trunks. The white cloud had almost reached the spot they had been mere minutes ago, but at least the sleigh couldn't come within the forest.

Alexander reached the tree line as well and he grabbed his sister's wrist, pulling her with him as she stared at the nearing sleigh as if in trance.

The beavers stood atop a massive protruding root of one of the ancient oak trees, and Mr Beaver waved them over. 'Down here, dive, dive!'

'Dive?' Alexander questioned in a hushed tone but when he and his sister reached the beavers, they could see a large hole dug out underneath the protruding roots. It was shielded from prying eyes by the snow and hills unless you stood as close by it as they did now. Alexander grinned ─ it was perfect ─ and he slid down the steep hillside, quickly followed by Rosaleen, the three Pevensies and lastly, the beavers. Once again, they were all crammed inside a small space and every sound they made seemed to be amplified by the earthly walls.

The sound of the sleigh nearing over the ice grew louder and louder, accompanied with the jingling of small bells, but then it all stopped. The staccato snorting of the reindeer echoed throughout the chilly air, but the hiding group did not dare to breathe when a menacing shadow fell on the snow outside the hole. There was someone standing nearby the oak tree and if they took one step closer, they could see the hole as well. . . but then the shadow disappeared again and the air remained silent.

'Maybe she's gone,' Lucy whispered.

'I suppose I'll go look,' Peter said just as quietly and without hesitation, but he was firmly pushed back by Mr Beaver when he tried to move.

'No,' the beaver whispered sternly. 'You're worth nothing to Narnia dead.'

'Neither are you, beaver.'

Mr Beaver gave his wife a warm smile but then he climbed out of the hole, disappearing into the bright light hovering above them.

Everyone waited anxiously as every second felt like it lasted a minute. Their hearts beat loudly in their throats, their ears focussed upon every little sound.

Suddenly, Mr Beaver stuck his head back into the hole, and Lucy let out an involuntary yelp.

The beaver's whiskers thrilled in amusement when he saw all the startled expressions. 'Come on out,' he said. 'There's someone here to see you, and I hope you've all been good.'

The group of teenagers climbed out of the hole, though they paused in their steps when their gaze fell upon a tall man with a white beard and dressed in a bordeaux red coat with a golden embroidery that ran in graceful patterns over the fabric. He stood in front of a large, wooden sleigh, carried by a line of eight reindeer whose harnesses were decorated with beautiful silver bells and holly leaves. The ancient eyes of the man sparkled joyfully and he let out a merry laugh when he noticed their perplexed stares.

Lucy was the first to shake out of her bewilderment and she stepped closer towards the man. 'Merry Christmas, sir,' she said with a wide smile as the man in front of them was undoubtedly Father Christmas.

'It certainly is now you have arrived, Lucy,' he said.

Susan shot her brother a look in disbelief. 'Look, I've put up with a lot since I got here, but this─.'

Peter cut her off by stepping in front of her, he came more and more to terms with the wonders of Narnia. 'We heard there was no Christmas in Narnia,' he mused.

Father Christmas hummed, the sound of his deep voice sending slow vibrations through the air. 'The Witch has kept me out for a long time, but her magic is finally weakening. The ice is losing its grip on the world, thanks to you all. You've given Narnia back its hope.'

He turned halfway back to the sleigh and heaved a large sack out of it. 'You still have a difficult road ahead, though. I hope these will be of some help along the way.'

Lucy's face lit up in excitement. 'Presents,' she exclaimed, quickly closing the last remaining distance between herself and Father Christmas.

The jolly man chuckled as he opened the sack but his expression turned rather solemnly as he took two things out of it and crouched down to be at the same eye-level as Lucy. He handed the youngest Pevensie a jewelled glass vial filled with a bright red liquid. 'The juice of the fire-flower,' he explained. 'It only grows atop of the active volcano of the Lone Islands where the flower can absorb the heat of the sun and the lava simultaneously. The flower is difficult to salvage and it is even more perilous to make this potion out of it, but one drop of it will cure any injury.'

Lucy accepted the vial, her thumb sliding over the smooth surface, the precious gift was heavier than she had expected.

'And though I pray you never have to use it, this is for you as well,' Father Christmas continued, handing her a dagger with a red hilt and a golden lion's head as a knob.

'I think I could be brave enough,' Lucy said, weighing the dagger in her other hand.

Father Christmas smiled faintly. 'I have no doubt you are, but battles are ugly affairs.' He rose back to his full length again and lifted a bow, a quiver with red-feathered arrows and an ivory horn out of the sack. 'Susan,' he called the dark-haired Pevensie, and Susan stepped forward, a bit reluctant but also curious.

Father Christmas gave her the bow and his hand pointed at the red lines in the dark wood in a gesturing manner. 'These are the woven strings of a phoenix feather, merged together as one with the wood thanks to the singing of the dryads. The magic of the Narnian creatures runs through the wood. Believe in this bow and it will not easily miss.'

Susan's fingers ran over the bowstring, it was a beautiful gift but she wasn't sure if she ever would be willing to use it. 'I thought you said battles are ugly affairs?'

Father Christmas smiled, giving her the ivory horn. 'You have no trouble making yourself heard, but blow on this and wherever you are, help will come.'

Susan observed her gifts and then with a small nod, she took a step back while Father Christmas reached into the sack once more.

'Peter,' he called, revealing a sword, still seated in its gold coloured sheath, and a shield that was silver-laced and displayed a red and roaring lion.

Peter's hand clasped around the red hilt and just like Lucy's dagger, it had a golden knob in the shape of a lion's head. In one smooth movement, Peter unsheathed the sword ─ as if he had always known how to handle one. The metal shimmered fiercely in the rays of the sun and the golden letters engraved into either side of the blade glistened like small stars on its own. Peter stared at it, awestruck and reverent.

'The time to use this is perhaps near at hand,' Father Christmas said. 'The sword is forged in the great dragon's breath as the lion's roar thundered through the air. The iron will not rust, it will never break or become blunt, and it has special properties that not even I know all the secrets of as they will reveal themselves when the time is right.'

Peter swallowed, his eyes finally leaving the blade to look at Father Christmas. 'Thank you, sir,' he said, sliding the sword back into its sheath and accepting the shield as well.

Father Christmas inclined his head in a respectful manner, his white beard dancing over his chest. 'Now,' he continued, 'lastly, Alexander and Rosaleen, please step forth.'

The Summers siblings walked closer towards Father Christmas after crossing eyes with each other. Both hadn't expected to receive gifts as well since their grandfather had brought this unnatural winter upon this land, but Father Christmas gave them both two swords. The four swords weren't as tall and broad as Peter's, though they were still a considerable size. The twin swords were meant to be fought with at the same time, and instead of a red coloured hilt, these were a dark purple. A silver knob shaped in the form of a dragon's head decorated the end of the handles, and both Alexander and Rosaleen noticed how the pair of swords fitted perfectly in their hands ─ though the weight would be something they would have to get used to.

'These four swords are made from the same steel,' Father Christmas said. 'They are perfectly balanced, and siblings in a way; they can always feel each other's presence even when they're miles and miles apart. These swords are forged in the rising light of the first summer's sun, and just like Peter's sword, they will never rust, never break or become blunt.'

He handed the two siblings the corresponding silver coloured sheaths with a cross-shaped leather belt as the swords would be easier to carry on their backs instead of hanging around their hips.

Rosaleen and Alexander thanked Father Christmas in unison, their fingers slightly trembling by the realisation of receiving such precious gifts.

'Remember,' Father Christmas said, addressing all of the humans. 'These are tools, not toys. Use them wisely and honourably.' He lifted the heavy sack back into the sleigh and climbed onto the wooden bench, gathering the reins of the reindeer in his hands.

'I'm afraid I must be off again. The work does pile up when you've been gone a hundred years. But,' he continued, turning a bit to look at the beavers, 'your gifts will be awaiting your return at the dam. Long live Aslan!'

Father Christmas cracked the reins and the two reindeer at the front pranced before all dashed away. The sleigh shot over the ice and caused the snow to fly up into the chilly air once again, and this time the cloud was no longer a menacing sight but a beautiful one to behold.

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