Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia, or any characters of C.S. Lewis'. This is not for profit, yada, yada, yada. Enjoy!

Henry Pevensie drove the car around to the front of the church to pick up his wife and four children. Now that the war was over, the streets were decked in colorful Christmas lights. A soft snow fell through the fog. It was Christmas Eve.

He was quite pleased with his children, he thought as they stepped out of the church. The boys were gentlemanly and courteous. The girls were vivacious and happy. Susan's love of parties and friends, it was true, alienated her family somewhat, but he was sure it was unintentional.

On the drive home, Lucy suddenly sighed and said:

"Just think of how Jesus must have felt, being the supreme Sovereign of the universe, then coming here as a human."

It seemed to be for Peter's benefit, since she looked over at him after she said it, but he continued staring moodily out the window. She and Edmund exchanged a glance.

"Not just any sort of human," Lucy continued. "He came as a baby, not as a man. He was the King, but no one treated Him like one, because all they saw was a child."

A tear dripped from Peter's chin. Edmund suddenly looked up, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "And no one knew," he said, his voice awed and quiet, "that inside that stable was something bigger than our entire world."

Lucy beamed at him, as if they shared a secret too wonderful for words.

Peter suddenly murmured, "We can never go through anything He hasn't suffered." He spoke slowly, the realization finally dawning on him. "Anything!"

To Henry, their gladness was palpable, marred only by Susan's annoyed silence as she spread her handkerchief out on one knee.

"Su?" Edmund asked tentatively.

"I wish you'd all stop playing this silly game," she snapped.

"Not even that," Peter whispered.

Helen looked at Henry and shook her head warningly.

Later that night, the six Pevensies sat before their fireplace, sipping hot chocolate before Susan left for a party.

"Let's go round the room and tell what we're thankful for," Lucy suggested.

"In America that's a thing to do at Thanksgiving," Susan objected, glad to use her extensive knowledge of American ways, "not on Christmas Eve."

Lucy looked quite crestfallen, and Edmund put his arms round her. "I'm thankful for forgiveness," he said.

Mr. Pevensie glanced around. "I'm thankful for my family."

"I'm thankful for safety during the war," Mrs. Pevensie said through her tears.

Susan looked down briefly before saying, in an even tone, "I'm thankful for my friends."

Peter paused and looked at Edmund, as if trying to decide between two things. Finally, he spoke. "I'm thankful for my brother, for his life."

Lucy nodded and whispered, "I'm thankful for the resurrection."

"I'm thankful for Home," Edmund said, referring to Narnia

"I'm thankful for my freedom."

"I'm thankful for my children."

"I'm thankful that the war is over."

Again, Peter weighed two options and finally spoke. "I'm thankful for a High Priest that knows our weakness, yet is still without sin." He looked at his hands, clasping them and unclasping them over his knee.

"High Priest?" Mr. Pevensie echoed.

"Jesus," Lucy explained. "It's what I was talking about earlier."

"'For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feelings of our infirmities,'" Edmund quoted, "'but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.' It's somewhere in…Hebrews."

"I'm thankful for my just and magnificent brothers, and my gentle sister," Lucy resumed.

Susan's head shot up. "Lucy, Peter is not magnificent!"

"How did you know it was Peter?" Edmund asked, effectively stopping the conversation.

She stood up. "I need to get ready for the party."

It was to be their last Christmas together, for a few months later came a crash on the railways.

And then, in the stable that truly was no stable, Lucy told the last king of Narnia of the stable in our world that held something bigger than the whole world. And at last, Peter smiled.

A/N: Yes, it was a plot bunny. I was thinking about the verse and thinking, "But there's a problem with the Chronicles of Narnia because that's something Jesus never had to go through. Hey, wait a minute—He did!" Tada! This was born.