I do not own any of these characters, or Narnia itself.

I had spent precious little time with my children since the war started. First I became very busy at the office and was not at home much. Then I enlisted and got shipped off to fight. Even after a German bullet ended my military service and sent me home in a wheelchair, I had not been able to see them right away, because they had been at a stranger's house in the country, being sheltered from the air-raids. No sooner had the evacuations ended, then the school year began, and the boys and Susan headed off to get educated, leaving me wondering if I would ever be able to say I knew them again.

Of course Lucy was not old enough for boarding school, and she brightened up our little house more than I had imagined anyone could do (except Helen, but that was different). Strangely enough, little Lucy seemed to understand pretty well how I felt about the war, the loss of my leg, and everything else I was dealing with just then. She was almost as much comfort to me as my darling wife in those first terrible months after I came home.

Then the other children returned and I found myself caught up in the celebration of the Christmas season despite everything. My sons and daughters seemed determined to help me recover from it all, and to my surprise, they knew pretty well how to go about it.

Edmund got me talking to him for hours about all that had happened at the front, and he knew just what to say to ease my heart about the people I had killed and the comrades I had seen die. I didn't intend to tell him about it because he was pretty young for such a horrible tale, but he drew me out and I found myself drinking in his words as I would those of a much older man with more wartime experience than I had. He gave me new hope.

Lucy insisted that I join in every Christmas activity, whether I felt like it or not. Her constant cheerfulness was catching, and her firm belief that all would one day be right with the world bolstered my own wavering faith in God. She gave me new joy.

Peter convinced me that even in a wheelchair I did not need to sit back and watch helplessly as Hitler swept across Europe. There were things I could still do for my country, ways that I could still help defend England. I found myself taking his advice as though he were older and wiser than I. He gave me new strength.

Susan quietly tended to my every need almost before I knew I needed anything. She made sure I was as comfortable as possible all the time, and she held my hand and spoke softly to me whenever she saw that my leg was causing me pain. When the longing to romp with my sons in the snow overcame me, Susan put her arms around me and shared in my grief. She was there in my worst moments when I could not help weeping for all that I had lost. I found myself depending on her for the kind of support and comfort that I had not received, or wanted, since my mother died years before. She gave me new peace.

Now the children's Christmas holidays were coming to an end. Peter and Edmund had returned to Hendon House that morning, but the schedule at St. Finbar's allowed Susan an extra day at home before she had to catch her own train.

Following a long-standing tradition, Helen went to visit Alberta two days before the New Year, and intended to return just before Susan left. Lucy went with her. That left me alone with my oldest daughter, and I dedicated the whole day to her. I sat in her room while she packed her school trunk, invited her out for a walk in the afternoon, and talked and laughed with her the whole day through. It was wonderful to be able to laugh again after the darkness of the past few months.

That night when we went to bed, Susan suggested that we leave both our bedroom doors open, since her room was right across the hall from mine. She said that if I needed anything during the night she would be delighted to be allowed to help me, and with the doors open it would be easy for me to call her. Of course I had no intention of actually waking her, but I wanted to please her, so I agreed to her plan.

I won't tell you exactly what I dreamed that night, but it involved the war front, and apparently I cried out. No surprise there; I had dreamed of the war frequently when I first came home, and even though the dreams had been coming less often lately, they did still come. Helen was getting quite good at waking me up when I cried out and reassuring me that I was home.

This night, though, Helen was not there. I woke to find Susan sitting beside me, holding my hand and running her fingers through my hair. She was murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance to me. She seemed as familiar with this task as Helen was-until I turned the light on and looked at her more closely. Her face was strangely pale and I was sure there were tears in her eyes.

"Did I frighten you, my dear girl?"

She laughed a little even as she wiped away the telltale drops. "No, father, I'm kind of used to soldiers' dreams. Actually, I'm glad you woke me, because I was in the middle of a nightmare about Rabadash."

I started to ask her about Rabadash, but stopped as I realized what she had said about soldiers' dreams. How could she be used to such a thing? There were other things I didn't understand about her too, so I decided to go straight to the heart of the issue.

"Susan, you and your siblings have really changed since I left for the war, and I can't help thinking that it wasn't just the war that caused it. Something has happened. Won't you tell your father what it was?"

Susan had recovered most of her natural color by now anyway, but at my question she blushed (rather prettily, I thought).

"I-We had some rather strange adventures during the evacuation. They changed us more even than you know, but I am not sure how much I can tell you without making you think I'm crazy."

I took her face in my hands and looked into her eyes. "Trust me, my darling daughter. Tell me everything."

Indecision flickered in her face, and those beautiful blue eyes seemed almost to be reading my heart to see how I would respond to her story. It hurt that she was not sure she could trust me, but I supposed that was the price I had to pay for not being part of her life lately. Then she smiled suddenly and breathed a long sigh.

"It all started when we were exploring the Professor's house one day..."