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That's weird.

Isabella continues down.
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Inside of Winter's cell, there is a picnic blanket spread on the floor and provisioned with an exquisite Christmas dinner for two. Sitting across from Winter at the blanket is Father Christmas.

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Isabella is momentarily struck speechless.
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Winter doesn't notice her at first, being too busy laughing, and then as his giggles fade he proceeds to be too busy eating dinner.

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"Um," begins Isabella.

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He startles. "Where'd you come from?"

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"Upstairs. I was going to tell you something about one of my Christmas presents that's relevant to you but then I was surprised."

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"...What?"

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"I asked - you didn't already tell him, did you? If you're going to tell him yourself there's no point in me interrupting," Isabella says, switching to addressing Father Christmas.

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"She asked, if I recall right, whether it is possible for you to die," says Father Christmas.

"And you said no, I'd wager."

Father Christmas nods.

"Wonderful," mutters Winter. "Merry Christmas to me."
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"I'm sorry. I thought you'd want to know."

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Winter sighs. "Thank you, your majesty."

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"Enjoy your picnic."

And she goes upstairs again to bed with her spouse.
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James is sleepy but not quite asleep; she snuggles up cozily when Isabella arrives.

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"They were having a picnic," Isabella yawns.

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"Who?" mumbles James.

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"Winter 'n Father Christmas."

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...

"...I'll think about that in the morning," she decides. Snuggle snuggle. Snuggle snuggle sleep.
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Snuggle sleep indeed.

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And in the morning, when they are both more or less awake:

"...I guess a picnic was the best present Father Christmas could give him?"
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"Maybe. I assume it hasn't happened before, but maybe this year Winter would finally welcome the visit?"

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"Maybe... I bet Father Christmas would've had a hard time bringing him a picnic while he was being crushed under a rock, too, for that matter."

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"Yeah. And back when Jadis was around he couldn't visit anyone."

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Nod nod.

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"But maybe they'll do it again next year, it's the sort of thing that could recur."

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