Via Cruorem et Venenum

DISCLAIMER: This is but a work of fan fiction and I do not in any way claim to own The Chronicles of Narnia.

NOTE: Written for the fanfiction contest at .First time writing for this genre and given such heavy and depressing prompts so please bear with me. It gets rather emo but like I said, I do not have much experience writing in this style but I do hope it isn't complete rubbish. Thank you.

--

The royal cape rustled as the king made his way through the hall. King Caspian X adjusted his garments which were slightly ruffled from his latest visit to one of his mistresses, a gypsy dancer from Calormen. He entered his solitary chamber, dark and empty as it had been for several years now. He sighed deeply and glanced around the seemingly vast space, richly furnished with the trappings of the Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands, but as empty and meaningless as any common cavern. Nothing was here. Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Caspian inhaled some of the fragrance of his mistress' perfume lingering on his body. He still had a vague sense of her warmth around him although he had already left her arms a few hours ago. Never did he spend the night with the mystical lady no matter how many times she pleaded sweetly with him to do so. He always had to return to the castle, no matter how ungodly the hour. Somehow, an inexplicable force always drove him to return to his home, no matter how empty it was.

An empty castle. Such an ironic image. There were servants and courtiers going around but all the people who really mattered in Caspian's life were no longer in residence. His wife had been slain several years ago and his son had gone on a wild quest to avenge his mother's murder. Caspian had made many attempts of the kind as well but none had been very successful. But that didn't mean that he was giving up on the venture. In fact, he was planning another expedition soon, as soon as the Dawn Treader would be ready for a long journey.

Nevertheless, Caspian had grown very lonely and had taken to "spending time" with certain women who were capable of giving him comfort in these dark and empty times. None of these encounters had been very serious of course, and it was not really in Caspian's nature to be so frivolous but many things had changed him and it was becoming increasingly difficult to look strong in the face of all the tragedies that had occurred. At least, he had been discreet about his affairs and only a very few trusted court officials were really aware of these romantic escapades. Despite his loneliness, Caspian did not want to completely and openly tarnish his reputation. There were rumors enough, of course, but these were easily quelled by a reassurance of his.

And the latest of his paramours was the gypsy dancer from Calormen. There was simply something more than alluring about those dark, penetrating eyes, and the long, silky tresses that fell on her ivory shoulders. And as beautiful and mysterious as she was, there was also something very familiar about her. Familiar and comforting. And it had to be said that she did not, in any way, resemble Ramandu's daughter.

Caspian strode over to the ancient wooden wardrobe that stood in the middle of his bed chamber. He gently put his hand on the elaborate wooden carvings of major historic events in Narnia which were engraved on the doors of the wardrobe. His eyes lazily gazed on the figures gracing the wardrobe before he opened the doors and reached up to the topmost shelf of wooden furniture. His hands groped for a few moments before he found what he was looking for. Carefully, Caspian took down the small item from its perch and held it tenderly in his wrinkled hands. His eyes rested on the small object, memories flooding back to him as he looked at it.

He did not go to the gypsy dancer for her beauty, her wit, her mystique, or her body. He did not even go to her because of the draughts of comforting potions she provided him with which helped him endure the pain and loneliness of dark, solitary nights. No, it was for none of these reasons that Caspian X continued his affair with the woman. He went to her for one reason alone, and only he knew what it was.

Once again, he looked down on the horn which had changed his life forever, and he remembered its original owner. Queen Susan the Gentle.

If only to imagine himself in her arms once more. If only to imagine the taste of her lips lingering on his, like they did so many years ago. If only to imagine that the lovely, gentle Queen of old was with him once again, that was the only reason Caspian continued to see the gypsy.

It was cruel and unfair to the woman, considering she seemed to genuinely show affection for him despite his age. He sometimes got the feeling that she knew his true motives for being with her and though she silently resented him for them, she also could not bear to be without him. But he could not do anything more for her. He did not love her. He only came to the gypsy because she reminded him of Susan. And in this time of complete darkness and loneliness for Narnia's king, he found comfort, albeit fleeting and imaginary comfort, believing that the lovely queen of the Golden Age was with him.

Many times had he tried to blow the horn, to summon the aid of the Kings and Queens, to call her again. But nothing had happened, no one had come. He saw or heard nothing of Aslan as well. Having no one else to turn to, Caspian often felt himself breaking under the pressure and frustration.

Although it gave him a pang of guilt to feel this way, he longed to see Susan again, he longed to call her back to him somehow. But he knew it to be impossible, no matter how fervently he hoped.

So he had to content himself with the Calormene strumpet and her foreign charms. He placed the horn on his bed and walked over to the small table on the side on which a goblet and pitcher were placed. He poured some of the warm liquid into the goblet and sipped it with a sigh.

Once again, his gypsy lover had provided him with her strange concoction which was supposed to calm him down during bouts of frustration and agony. For some strange reason, he never really asked her about the composition of the potion. All he knew was that it did deliver the comfort that she said it would and that had been enough for him. The warm, sweet liquid poured down his throat, instantly giving him a feeling of calm and relaxation. He would grow limp and slightly weak after taking in every sip but the momentary oblivion he felt seemed worth the growing feebleness he was experiencing after every drink.

He lay down on his bed, holding the horn in his hands, and drifted off to a slumber, hopefully filled with dreams of the gentle queen of Narnia.

--

The door slammed shut behind her as Susan Pevensie threw herself on her bed, angry tears streaking the immaculately clean sheets. She clenched her fists and pounded them on the bed violently, in between sobs. Berating herself for playing the fool yet again she continued sobbing into her pillow until she regained her calm.

Slowly, still slightly trembling, Susan raised herself up from her bed and wiped her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself to regain her composure. Although her siblings knew well enough not to disturb her when she was this upset, she knew that she would have to face them soon. And when that happened, she did not want to show them the emotional wreck that she was now. Susan Pevensie did not want to appear vulnerable, even to those who knew her so well. The cool, sensible exterior (façade) had to be placed back on.

But it was so difficult to do that, not after another heartbreak.

George had been the latest in a string of romances (all failed) she had had ever since she had decided to accept the fact that she and Peter were never returning to Narnia. She had tried and tried to convince herself that there was no point in trying to imagine what it might have been if she had been allowed to stay a little bit longer, the memory of that farewell kiss burning into her dreams for so many nights. But Susan Pevensie was a sensible girl and she knew how futile it was to hold on to such a juvenile fancy. So she moved on, or at least tried to.

Forcing herself to forget about Caspian was probably the hardest thing Susan ever had to do but she tried to find ways. And so she outwardly expressed that she was sick and tired of the childish games that she and her siblings used to play and that she was ready to face the real, grown-up world. The others resented her for this, Lucy especially, but nothing they ever told her could sway her. She had made up her mind.

And so followed lover after lover, each affair more passionate than the last, and each break-up all the more painful. Every boy she seemed to have a relationship with always ended up cheating on her in one way or another and she would always be running to her room in tears. For a time, she had a group of girl friends to confide her romantic woes to but after a certain period, these fair-weather friends had abandoned her as well, so tedious and serious did they find her.

Then, there was tension in the family. Although her parents had initially been relieved to see that Susan was finally coming out of her shell by socializing with other girls her age, they soon began to show their disapproval of the kinds of boys she had been going out with. Peter had likewise expressed his concern about it but Susan had played the rebel for once and gone against everyone's wishes by pursuing relationships with every boy who took her fancy.

A very deep rift had been dug between Susan and the rest of her family and though, after a certain time, they all learned to be civil to one another in order to avoid further strife, something had changed drastically within the Pevensie household. No longer were any of them as happy as they used to be, and they all believed that such circumstances were now beyond remedy.

Edmund and Lucy seemed to have lost some of their respect for their elder sister ever since she decided to act "grown-up." The younger brother merely acted sullen around her and no longer teased and joked around with her as he used to do. Lucy had been more optimistic and for a time, the younger girl had made many attempts to reach out to her sister, and to remind Susan that not all was lost. But the young girl's pleas had fallen on deaf ears. The Susan they knew was all but gone, replaced by this new, but not so lovable replica of a gentle lady.

So much had changed in the Pevensie house, and there was not much they could do to stem the tide of drastic alterations. Time was passing and each of the four former monarchs of Narnia had to face their destinies in their own worlds. But sadly, the bond that had existed among the four siblings had now been shattered beyond recognition by Susan's outrageous behavior. But none of them could find any other way to resolve the conflict.

"I want my sister back," Lucy had pleaded to Susan some while back, but the latter had merely given the younger girl a cold glance before walking away, suppressing the tears which threatened to flow down her face.

Susan Pevensie had changed. She had had to. No one seemed to understand that, no one.

Some days Susan felt like cursing Aslan, cursing the fate that had allowed her one brief encounter of bliss, only for it to be cruelly snatched away from her forever. But even if she thought about returning to Narnia by some strange, magical way, she knew very well that nothing would ever be the same again. Time had passed in England, and surely, so had it passed in that world beyond the Professor's wardrobe.

If when the four siblings had only been gone for a year, more than a century had passed in Narnia, then surely, an even longer duration of time had passed in Narnia ever since her last visit. While pondering all these things in her room, Susan went to sit by her dresser, and looked in the mirror. With careful movements, she tried to clean up her tear-stained face, tried to regain that cold and calm exterior that everyone was so accustomed to. And while she wiped the spilled make-up on her cheeks, she remembered him. The only man she ever wanted to be with. Prince Caspian.

Of course, he was King Caspian when they left him. And he had most probably moved on with his life, what with all his royal duties ahead of him. Susan scowled resentfully at the thought but she knew that it was probably true. Caspian had found some beautiful princess, married her, made her his queen, and they had had many children together. A happy marriage, an ideal reign. That was his destiny, after all, one that she, formerly Queen Susan the Gentle, had no place in. Her role in Caspian's life had long since ended and he had probably forgotten all about her.

It was just too bad that she could not, no matter how hard she tried, forget about him, ever. It seemed that every boy she had had a relationship with had merely been a channel for her to forget Caspian. But all these schemes had backfired on her, of course.

As she cleaned her face, Susan supposed that it was only fair that all her previous boyfriends had dumped her for others. After all, she never truly cared for any of them. In fact, it was she who had been cruel, using them only to forget the person she truly loved. So perhaps, she deserved this miserable fate.

Nevertheless, Susan longed to be rid of the wretched state she was in. Too much had been broken beyond repair and she did not intend for any thing to get any worse than this. Aslan had denied her return to Narnia, but perhaps there was another way to get back, on her own. Susan stared for a few moments into the image in the mirror. And then, seeming to come to a decision she opened one of the drawers of her dresser and carefully brought out a small, bladed object. Susan stared at the weapon pensively, contemplating what she would do with it. It was not of particularly great craftsmanship but she had bought it anyway. The carvings on the dagger's hilt had so reminded her of Narnia that she could not resist buying it. No one else knew of its existence, however. It was her own little secret.

There might be another way to get back, Susan thought, unsheathing the small dagger, or at least to flee this wretched life, flee this dark place.

--

He realized it only too late. King Caspian X awoke with a start, driven by the excruciating pain that his entire body was experiencing. He found that he was unable to shift positions or to move his limbs in any way. His whole body was burning. But despite the pain, Caspian felt himself overcome by a strange, inexplicable calm, as if he had been expecting this to happen.

"If I can't have you all to myself, then, no one can."

She had known all along, that strange, gypsy witch. He never could deceive those sharp eyes. At the time he had taken those words as the crazed threat of a lovesick girl, but now he knew that women with such fire in their souls did not give empty threats. She had reached her limit. She had known that he had never truly loved her, and she could not bear the thought. So this was how she exacted her vengeance.

Caspian was surprised that he had trusted her this much, accepting the potion without ever questioning its potency. Now, he knew that slowly but surely, the Calormene witch had been poisoning him, leading him down the dark and dreary road to his death.

He would not make that journey on the Dawn Treader after all. He would never be able to avenge his wife's death. And what saddened Caspian the most was that he would never be able to say good-bye to his son. Rilian was somewhere out there, unaware that his father lay dying in his bed.

The pain was getting worse now and Caspian bit his lip, trying to block out all thoughts of the physical agony. And as the pain swelled and swelled, soon making him numb beyond all things, Caspian X still found the strength to smile, ever so slightly.

"If there is any joy that shall come out of my death tonight," he thought as he gasped his final breaths, "it will be that I might finally…"

--

She gripped the hilt tight and closed her eyes, her hands trembling as she poised the dagger above her chest. She knew the consequences, she knew the pain she would be causing not just to herself but to all those she loved. Susan knew just how reckless this was. But she didn't care about that anymore. She didn't care about anything else any more.

Susan Pevensie had reached her breaking point and she was not looking back. She had made her decision. After tonight, she would shed no more tears, have no more nightmares, scream no more, ache no more. She would take this bloody path back to wherever paradise or hell she belonged to, for as long as she was away from this world.

She knew it was selfish. She knew it was unfair. But she could not stop herself any longer. She had suffered so much, so much that none of them knew about, so much that she had never dared tell anyone. And she longed to leave, to escape, to flee, to be free of all the pain, the unbearable pain.

Susan Pevensie suppressed a scream as the blade tore through her flesh, and blood spurted out from the wound. She fell to the floor, clutching her bleeding breast, her eyes closed, trying to endure the pain as noiselessly as she could. She bit her lip as the blood and life flowed out, staining the floor boards with crimson. There was no turning back now, she had done what she had to do.

As she gasped for breath, she tried to block out the pain she felt by imagining what she had been, reminiscing on the times in her short life that she had been truly happy. She could see the smiling faces again, hear the warm laughter, feel the joy of those adventures together. Every painful recent event in her life seemed to be washed away by the flow of her dark blood and the influx of her happier memories. There would be no more pain beyond this, no more suffering, no more agony. Susan smiled slightly as her eyes began to close.

"At last," she thought as she gasped her final breaths, "I shall …"

--

"…make my own way back to you."