A/N – Writing a fanfiction based on a song, though different than a song-fic, is still a risky business. Writing a Christmas-themed Narnia fanfiction is perhaps a slightly over-done business. Writing a post-Last Battle fanfiction about Susan is all but forbidden, it's so risky and overdone. So why combine all three of these highly volatile elements? Perhaps it's just because I can. Perhaps it's because I had to. But whatever your views on these types of fics, I hope that mine will stand on its own as a unique creation that comes out of the depths of my nerdy love. So here is my inspired-by-a-song ("Merry Christmas with Love" by Clay Aiken), Christmas-themed, post-Last-Battle-Susan story. Merry Christmas.
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"Wake up, Susan! Come on, wake up! For heaven's sake, you may be a Queen, but you sleep like a bear!"
Blinking eyes that wanted desperately to stay shut, Susan slowly pushed herself up on one elbow. Lucy was standing beside her bed, still in her nightgown, long hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. Her arms were crossed, but her mouth was turned up in a teasing grin.
"Finally," she said. "I was beginning to think I'd never get you up."
"What on earth are you doing, Lu? It's still dark out . . . "
"It's only semi-dark out. And Merry Christmas to you, too."
"Christmas?" Susan sat bolt upright, shaking off her sleepiness. "Lucy, it's Christmas!"
"Good of you to remember," Lucy laughed, throwing her arms around her sister.
Susan returned the embrace with a smile. Their sixth Christmas in Cair Paravel.
"Come look outside, Su," Lucy said, breaking the embrace to tug on her sister's hand. "It's so beautiful! Every Christmas here just gets more and more perfect."
"Alright, alright, just wait for two seconds," Susan said, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and sliding her feet into the soft slippers beside her bed. "Aren't you freezing?"
Taking no notice, Lucy raced to the window in her bare feet and threw it open. Susan moved to her sister's side and gasped. The soft blueish-grey light of dawn seemed to glow as it contrasted with the sharp, cold edges of perfect, unbroken snow stretching as far as she could see. Every surface was covered with a thousand sparkling crystals.
"It's beautiful," Susan whispered, watching her warm breath twist into smoky curls before disappearing. "Thank you, Aslan."
"Alright, now come on!" Lucy urged. "There's so much to do! And those silly brothers who call themselves kings are still sleeping. How do they expect us to open presents if they can't get their royal heads off their pillows?"
"Honestly, Lucy, when Christmas comes you're as bad as a child."
"Don't you see, Susan?" Lucy grabbed her hands and spun her around the room wildly. "When Christmas comes, everyone is a child!"
She was holding Lucy's hands, the world spinning around her, laughter coming from her mouth, heart bursting with gratitude and joy . . .
Susan sat up in bed, clutching her blankets to her chest. Everything was still. She was in complete darkness. She was alone.
Letting out a shaky breath, Susan swung her legs over the side of her bed, rested her elbows on her knees, and held her head in her hands. Her dreams were getting worse. Every night it was one of them. She could never decide if it was better because she could see them again, or worse because she had to wake up and remember that they were gone.
Susan stood so quickly that the blood rushed to her head. Flicking on the light made her cringe, but she refused to stay sitting in the darkness with her dreams. They felt like memories, but there was something about them, something she couldn't quite lay her finger on, that was different. Thinking of them made the pit of her stomach coil up on itself.
"They're just dreams," she muttered to the silence. "They don't mean anything."
Despite the early hour, she forced herself to dress and drink a cup of tea. She was determined to go through at least one day normally. But by midmorning, she had given up once again on her ideal normal day. No matter what task she set to, she would find herself stopped in the middle of it, staring off into space. Everything she thought she might enjoy, everything she tried doing to divert her attention, only turned into a bitter reminder of the joy that had been stolen from her. With each futile attempt at activity, she was forced to weather the emotional storm of missing her family, feeling anger towards them for leaving her so very alone, feeling guilt for feeling anger, and wishing, though it terrified her to admit it to herself, that she had died with them.
Sometime in the evening – she had stopped keeping track of time – she ventured outside just long enough to retrieve the mail. She ripped open the decorative envelopes, scanning the few party invitations she'd received. Only months ago, she would have been carefully opening three times that number, gushing over every one of them, planning exactly what dress and exactly what shade of lipstick she would wear to each. Now she threw them down after barely glancing at them. As if anyone actually expected her to show up. When she reached the last card, she paused. A stamp on the back read "Kingdom Church." Quickly grabbing up every card and envelope, she flung them onto the fire burning in her living room. Why did everyone have to pretend that they cared?
She blinked back hot tears as she sank down onto the window seat and leaned her head against the cold, frosty panes of glass. Large snowflakes were beginning to swirl around peacefully outside. She turned away from them. Something about the snow made her uncomfortable. Her eyes fell on the tall evergreen tree standing in the middle of her living room. Some of the neighbors had brought it over, saying that she needed to have a Christmas tree, that it would brighten things up. She had thanked them and promised to decorate it, but it stood bare. What reason did she have to decorate it? Who would admire it? Who would crawl under its branches on Christmas morning to retrieve the last unopened gift?
She stared at the bare pine tree and wearily submitted to the flood of memories pushing against the corners of her mind. She remembered being a small child in their home in Finchley, clambering over her siblings to reach her stocking first. She remembered ripping open present after present as her parents watched happily. She remembered watching the others with delight as the lights on the tree reflected off their eyes. The love and warmth she remembered made the emptiness and coldness she felt all the more intense.
A tear slipped out from under her eyelashes and fell down to the floor.
As she lifted one hand to her eyes, she paused halfway, listening. At first she thought she was imagining things, finally going insane. But as the sound became louder and clearer, she knew she couldn't be imagining it. She heard voices outside singing, then a light knock on her door.
For a moment she sat and listened, trying to make out their words through the closed window. Something in her mind told her to stop listening, to keep the doors and windows closed, to walk away and encase herself in silence again. But something else, buried much deeper inside her, a sense of longing for something she couldn't remember, told her to listen.
Slowly, painfully, she walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open and looked out. A dozen or more smiling faces greeted her as they sang an old carol she hadn't heard, or paid attention to, for years. She looked over the crowd, over faces young and old, wondering why they had come, why they had chosen her door.
Then, as the carolers began another song, one stepped forward. He was a young man, near Susan's age, and he smiled sheepishly as he extended his hand. In it was a small silver envelope. She reached out a hand that shook inexplicably, took it from him, and turned it over. It was shut with a golden wax seal with the initials K.C. She opened it, pulling out a small card with a nativity scene etched on the front. Inside were four simple words – "Merry Christmas with love." Over a dozen names were signed, many at the end of small notes. The words Kingdom Church were written across the bottom of the card. She looked at the crowd again in amazement. They were from the church. Her parents' church. Her siblings' church. She recognized some of the faces – visiting friends that she had been introduced to before she dashed off to some party or other. And the young man. He had been her siblings' close friend.
Looking down at the card, running her fingers over its words, she listened. She listened as they sang of peace, comfort, joy, a Child, a sacrifice. And of Love.
Her body began to shake with sobs, and before she fully understood what she was doing, she stretched out a shaking hand towards the crowd. Many warm, strong hands encircled hers, and she clung to them. Then, to her amazement, she began to sing along.
Son of God, Love's pure Light.
With the dawn of redeeming grace.
Something stirred in her. Something deep, buried, locked away. Something that spoke of the Son of the Emperor over the Sea, of ultimate Love, of Light, of the Dawn and a Deeper Magic, of Redeeming a prisoner, of Grace. Of a Lion.
She couldn't explain these thoughts and feelings, and didn't try. All she knew was that she felt as if a great shadow hanging over her had been driven away.
Eventually the songs ended, she was embraced by many, and the carolers made their way out into the dancing snow. The young man turned to look at her one more time, offering a small but caring smile. She stepped inside, dropped onto the window seat, and closed her eyes.
Again, memories of past Christmases flooded her, but these were different. In them, she was with her siblings, but not her parents. They were in a castle, not a small home. They wore strange clothes and said strange names, such as Tumnus and Cair Paravel. And Aslan.
She inhaled deeply, opened her eyes, and looked down at the open card in her hands. She found that she had been rubbing her thumb across the word love again and again. And, for the first time in months, she smiled.