It was the hiss of the fire as it collapsed into a pile of softly glowing ash that woke the Professor. He looked around his study, taking in the sight of his four slumbering houseguests, their blankets rising and falling with each slow breath. They looked young but there was age about them, an experience, and these things somehow showed more fully in sleep. Watching them, the Professor thought to himself that there was so much more to them than met the eye.

Behind Lucy’s childish face was the faith that had supported a kingdom for years. Susan’s growing beauty concealed a mind sharp enough to defeat tyrants and a gentleness pure enough to set the world aflame. Edmund, so young and small, contained a wisdom hard won and an experience even the most aged judge would envy. And Peter- Peter’s kind countenance masked the courage that had made Narnia the most respected land in all the world.

The Professor shook himself and rose slowly, rubbing his sore back and muttering to himself about the inconveniences of old age. He chanced to glance out the window and was surprised to see that the snow was still drifting lazily downward towards the winter wonderland. The smooth snow was a balm to the frozen land, hiding its deformities and blanketing it all, at least for a time, in a coat of pure salvation. He might have stayed at the window forever were it not for the sound of a fire suddenly blazing into life once more.

As he turned, Professor Kirke tried to tell himself that he had been expecting this particular guest, and he had been, after a fashion. But no matter how one has been expecting it, it is always a surprise to find Father Christmas in one’s home for the first time.

“Father Christmas.”

It was not a question, but neither was it a statement. It was more of a plea for reassurance than anything else.

The big man, if man he was, gave a quiet laugh and moved so that he was no longer silhouetted by the light of the fire he had just created from the ashes. The Professor saw, for the first time in his life, Father Christmas standing before him and was surprised not so much by the person as by the wildness about him. Professor Kirke discovered at that moment that every tale he had ever heard of Father Christmas was woefully incorrect. This was no jolly, guileless old man in a red suit who existed only to give presents. The Father Christmas now before him was an ancient, faithful servant to his Lord, a servant who had fought for his Master and stood against a deadly evil with all the might and power in him. He was wild, wild like his Master, but there was no doubt that he was good.

As Father Christmas bowed his head, the golden clasps in his beard and hair shone in the firelight. “Lord Digory, I bring tidings of joy to yourself and your Kings and Queens on this day of all days.” He smiled fondly at the sleeping children. “And how do their Majesties fare?”

“They miss their home.”

“As do you,” Father Christmas finished. The Professor noted another inaccuracy from the stories: Father Christmas’ eyes did not twinkle. They blazed. “But you will see it again, as shall they.” He smiled again and Professor Kirke wanted to do nothing so much as smile along with him. “For now, I have some things which will, perhaps, lessen the distance.”

So saying, he reached into his velvet bag and pulled out four packages, laying one at the feet of each of the four children. Professor Kirke thought, on seeing those packages, that he had never truly seen a Christmas present in his life, so beautiful were they. Each package, however small or large, was full of unlimited possibilities as to what it might hold. Much like their giver, they were not tame things, not toys or trinkets or playthings. They were things of beauty, of grace, of need.

Father Christmas reached into his bag for the last time and removed a single, small gift. Handing it to the Professor, he said, “Merry Christmas, Lord Digory.”

Nodding his head solemnly to ancient deity, Professor Kirke took the gift and cradled it in his hands, feeling the comforting weight. “Merry Christmas.”

“Long live the True King.”

And then he was gone.

The Professor sank down into his armchair and ran his hands over the package. It was wrapped not in cheap foil but in a thick, colored parchment. A golden ribbon wrapped itself gracefully around the gift, giving it an air of majesty. With hands trembling from excitement and anticipation, Professor Kirke loosed the ribbon and watched as the thick paper fell away from the present.

Lying nestled in a length of soft linen was a single apple. Not an apple from the Garden of the West, nor an apple from any Tree of Protection, but a simple Narnian apple. It shone, red and full, against the white of the cloth.

Impatiently brushing the tears from his eyes, Professor Kirke lifted the fruit and took a slow bite, savoring the sensation of the slight resistance of the apple’s skin before his teeth broke into the sweet flesh. His mouth was filled with the otherworldly taste of a Narnian apple, which had always seemed finest to him of all Narnian fruits.

Licking the fragrant juice from his lips and lowering the core to his lap, the Professor turned his gaze to the slumbering children.

“Merry Christmas, your Majesties.”

Outside, the snow had stopped falling and the clouds had cleared away, leaving a black velvet sky that blazed with brilliant silver stars above a sea of snow-covered land,

In the darkness, a Lion roared.

I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a blessed New Year!