This, and it's twin Last of the Wilds, were two works that were born together shortly after I started putting together Cruel Angel Thesis, and the idea wouldn't die even when I really didn't want to go through with it. Still, I am happy because, in the end, it gave me a reason to do something I didn't know I needed: write Susan as a young adult and dive deep into her psyche.
Damn, too much Hannibal is melting my brain.
The only thing I am not so happy about this is, because of the perspective I can't dive into Bucky's mind, which I find as fascinating as Susan's - the list of disappointments also includes the fact that I found myself unable to integrate the work with forties slang, but it makes me feel better the fact that I can't even do that in my mother tongue so... yeah. Still, this is perhaps the work I'm most happy with so far. And I think it's because it's the work that carries through most of my own feelings regarding Narnia and the sacrifices the Lion asks for. I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

So... yeah. I had this ready for a month already and the university had been hectic at best and harrowing at worst. If I don't publish this now I might never do it. Also, there is no telling when Last of the Wilds will be ready for publishing, this might be the last you see of me for a while.

World's End Dancehall

Events at night weren't something she was used to assisting, not in England at least.

As Queen of Narnia, there had always been the rare night she got too distracted playing some game with her siblings, engrossed into some political deliverance or even in a distended War Council until the day died and another was born anew. As Susan Pevensie, up until last year she had been cooped up for most of the year inside the halls of a boarding school with a strict curfew, and those few nights with all of her siblings together had been put to good used delivering about Narnia an all that had transpired there until sleep claimed them one by one.

Narnia, the land of Talking Beasts, of succession determined by Prophecy and Centenary Winters. A magical world of whimsical rules that could give it all you never wanted and take everything you've got to love from you in a mere second. The more she thought about it the more bitter she became.

She had bled and fought, dreamed and built, planned and carried through, what seemed like a lifetime ago, actions towards the betterment of her Kingdom. She had given the best of her, even when she knew it wouldn't last, and her feeling had been proven right when she had been told she wasn't fit for an Adventure anymore.

Her time had passed and age had reclaimed what had been unable to once - and with the life she had had once, the loyalty she had pledged for so long, her being was now left adrift.

Now, standing on this dancehall and trying to reclaim the life that would've been hers had Lucy not stumbled upon a different world inside a Wardrobe, she still felt like she didn't belong and that hurt more than anything else she could think about.

How much more would she have to give to a world she wasn't allowed back to? Her youth? Her chance at happiness? Her sanity?

It hurt even more after reading Lucy's letter, of her and Edmund's travels with the Dawn Treader crew, of Eustace's - punny little Eustace, more willing to bully them than to be a better man and simply let them be - adventures with a world that had, until then, belonged only to the four of them. They had now fundamentally lost a part of what Narnia meant to them, or at least Peter and she. The magic, the Lion, Caspian's finding of a new love... It was just too much, and with the War and the possibility of their father being called back to the frontlines her mind just couldn't take it.

All these young people, mingling and dancing and talking like their world wasn't on the brink of falling apart - like they hadn't been torn apart from their futures by fate's whim - she craved so much to be like them, have simple worries and an only world to worry about.

A sigh left her lips, and she would've started to make her way out had a soldier not called her attention.

He was older than her by a few years, dressed in Amerian uniform and wearing a charming smile that would have dazzled her had she had only her England experiences to fall back to. As it was, an arched brow was the only response he got, along with her regal dismissal by looking back onto the dancers.

Memories swirled back to the forefront of her mind of dances much more glorious than this on the Great Hall in Cair Paravel, the same Great Hall she had seen in ruins the last time she was there... With a determination she didn't think could maintain for long, she pushed those memories to the back of her mind, while it sprung unbridled the question of what had Caspian done during the reconstruction with the extra thrones that now would never be used again. Had he rebuilt them as well, as a memento of the Kings and Queens of Narnia's Golden Age? Would have he rebuild only the High King's seat and her own for the use of his consort? Would he ever allow his consort to stand on the same dais as he would as an equal or would he make another level for her and his heirs to be seated upon? All questions that now would never have answers, yet questions that were better to ponder over 'what would our children have looked like, had I been allowed to stay?'.

The soldier walked up to her this time, holding a flute up to her with a small tilt of his head in invitation. She accepted it with a forced smile, if only because she needed something outside her head to concentrate on, and he stood next to her looking at the dancers.

"Worried about the future?" He asked not unkindly, with a warm and grave voice that reminded her of the centaur she had once considered friends.

What was with everything in the world that reminded her of Narnia? Shaking her head softly she decided to oblige.

"More like an awful combination of reminiscing and uncertainty." Her tone had changed again and her commentary made the man lift an eyebrow and smile softly at her.

"Surely not uncertain for the state of your new allies? We are here to help the war effort and teach Englishmen a thing or two about charming a lady after all!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile at his joke.

"Are all Americans this self-confident and insolent, or it is just you?"

"Only the good ones, doll." When she laughed, he bent down and kissed gently the back of her hand. "Seargent James Barnes at your orders, my lady."

Susan couldn't help but smile ruefully at his gesture, and before she could think better about it bowed the way she had before foreign dignitaries.

"A pleasure, Sargent Barnes. I am Susan Pevensie." He looked at her strangely for a second, and she raked her mind looking for what part of what she'd said had been the one that had been dipped into the Gentle Queen's essence - she had managed, after all, not to spurt her title as Peter had done while introducing himself to Trumpkin.

It was the tone, it dawned on her, that of one who had ruled and directed during decades with none but a sibling above her in the chain of command. He was quick to shrug it off in a small flicker of his eyes she would have probably missed if she wasn't looking, and Aslan knew what kind of thought process he followed to dismiss it. Did American schools even teach logic?

"Well, Miss Pevensie, I can do nothing to assuage your doubts or fears", he began with a tone that, even if heavy with mirth, was nothing but gentle. "But I can make you forget about them, if only for a little while. Would you honor me with a dance?"

A seemingly innocent question with a very complex answer.

She hadn't danced since coming back from Narnia and being deemed a kid again. In those times she hadn't wished to bring to her own - and her siblings' notice - that the one of them deemed the fairest and most graceful was back to an uncoordinated mess, which reflected perfectly the state of her mind. And after coming back from good she had deemed the activity too much of a painful reminder for her to engage in it.

She had been wasting her time attending social functions to try and distract her mind from her pain, but was it really worth it if she wasn't willing to participate in the world around her? She couldn't do as her siblings and close herself from what was happening, and a part of her wanted as desperately to be a big player able to help in the current conundrum her world was as bad as she wished to get back home. Letting her eyes wander to the man's she could almost see his soul exposed for all to see: his current humor and charm hid from others his growing fear doused with heavy determination. He wasn't going to be a hero, he didn't seem the type to run undue risks, but he wasn't going to be a deserter either.

Making an earth-shattering, life-changing desition took but a second - yet, of course, she wouldn't know that until much later.

"I would love to, Sargent Barnes" she answered with a beautiful, carefree smile - the first in a long while.

The American answered with one of his own before sweeping in a low bow taken out from a Narnian knight, and held his hand for her to take while the first notes from a bass began to weave the rhythm of an upbeat Jazz, and she took it with a giddiness she hoped would last at least the whole night.

That night on the arms of an American soldier that would probably have his spirits crushed in the raging conflict Susan took the desition of keep walking forward.

Aslan told her she had learned all she could of Narnia, then now was the time to put it all to good use: no more reminiscing, no more crying over something that she couldn't correct, no more worrying over a land she couldn't save... not anymore. England and Earth were the here and now, the places she could keep fighting for, and by the Mane, she would do it.

Even if it tore her heart to pieces and shattered the gentleness she had once been named after.