Alright, so there's a fair bit of heavy stuff in this fic. It's mainly about death and grief and being the one left behind. If anyone is dealing with grief or has lost someone close to them, they might not want to read this, unless it's for catharsis.
The funeral had been six days ago. Susan hadn't stopped crying yet.
Her siblings – Peter, Edmund, Lucy – were all dead. They had died in a train crash. Susan remembered all their trips on trains in the past – from London to the Professor's house, to school, to parties – as a family. She had spent a significant portion of her life on trains, but she hadn't been there for their final journey.
As much as they had drifted apart as they aged – the others were still obsessed with their silly little games of being kings and queens of Narnia, seeing Aslan everywhere – Susan still missed them. Even before, not having Peter to be the sensible one with, not having Edmund to roll her eyes with and not having Lucy, beautiful Lucy, to dress up, to play princess – queen – with, Susan had still missed them. Only now, they were more than just a telephone away.
A big, fat tear drop fell from her cheek, smudging the ink on the page before Susan. Susan couldn't speak with her siblings anymore, but that didn't mean that she couldn't write to them.
Peter – magnificent Peter – had encouraged Edmund to write to Father while he was fighting. This was back when Edmund had been young, and angry. And so alone.
Edmund had written page after page to Father, not sending anything. It didn't matter that Father wouldn't receive the letters, Edmund only wanted to have a connection to Father. As far as Susan knew, those letters were still at home. She would have to dig them out soon, show them to someone. Edmund never had. Susan wanted to know what he had written. She wanted to know the thoughts of her little brother. The thoughts she had never had a chance to ask about.
"I miss you," Susan whispered, staring at the pen in her hand. Her penmanship was beautiful. Each word curled on the page effortlessly. Uncaring of the effort it had taken to write them.
"I know we drifted apart, but I still loved you as much as ever. I feel like a part of me is gone now. It feels like first returning to London did. Like forgetting all our childish games. I don't think I can fill this missing part of me with nylons," Susan laughed. It was a horrible sound. Wet and hoarse all at once. It was a sound of true sadness. True despair. Despair Susan had felt long before the train crash, but only now had a reason to feel. Only now was she unable to hide it behind a wall of lipstick and eye shadow. "Lucy, you would be shocked. You never needed any of that silly stuff, did you? You were always so beautiful on your own. Always so… valiant."
Susan lowered her pen, needing to stop to rest her head in her hands. She heaved with sobs. She felt like she couldn't breathe. How was she supposed to go on without them? They were her family. Even if they had been obsessed with Narnia.
She raised her pen again. "What was your fascination with Narnia? I know it was our safe haven, our home. We spent forever there, fighting with the centaurs, talking with the horses, playing at being royalty. It was pure madness!" Susan sighed.
"I hope that you're in heaven together. I know you are, actually. You would never have allowed yourselves to be separated." Her beautiful siblings, so strong alone, unstoppable together. Susan had felt so blocked off from them, they were such a powerful force together, joined by Narnia. "You were all such wonderful people. The greatest. Lucy, so valiant. Edmund, so just. Peter, so magnificent. I was always the beautiful one. The gentle one." Susan laughed. "I don't feel very gentle. I feel… fragile. Broken. Jagged. Not gentle. I'm so sharp that I can cut anyone who gets too close," Susan admitted.
"I feel raw, even more so without you. I know you were disappointed with me for giving up on Narnia. But…" Susan paused. Her pen hovered a moment. "Narnia gave up on me first."
Susan hoped that her siblings didn't hate her. For insulting their precious Narnia. More precious than her.
Susan stood up from her desk. She walked around her well decorated flat before walking to her window. She had been so proud of her flat before. It was quite grand. Now, all the space just reminded Susan of what she didn't have to fill it.
When Lucy had visited, had stayed the night, she had been so impressed by the view outside the window, more so than the flat itself. Susan had never thought anything of it, but now she wondered what it was that had fascinated Lucy. She had never asked. Even though she had suspected that Lucy had wanted her to. Susan gazed out onto the city below her window. Then she peered up into the starry sky. There weren't as many stars out here as there had been visible from Professor Kirke's house. She searched for whatever Lucy had imagined, Lucy was always dreaming, that she saw.
Leo, the lion star.
Susan remembered once, out on Professor Kirke's lawn, the four of them gazing up at the sky. Peter had pointed out the constellation to her. Edmund had found it an old astronomy book. Lucy had seen it first. Susan hadn't believed that there was such a thing as a lion in the stars. But Lucy had.
Lucy was always seeing lions – seeing Aslan – in things. She was always the first to see him in their games too. Had she seen it from her room? From the very window that Susan was looking out of now? Was that what had fascinated her? Aslan watching over her in the sky.
Now Lucy and Edmund and Peter could join Aslan.
Susan carefully picked out three stars out the star lion. "Peter, Edmund, Lucy," she named them. "Even if I don't believe in Narnia, I'll always find it when I look for you."
Years later, when Susan's heart no longer ached at the memory of her siblings. When she could picture Lucy's laugh without thinking of her bloodstained clothes. When she could remember Ed's smile without thinking of his dead eyes. When she could hear Peter's voice, guiding her, without remembering how cold his hand had felt in hers when she had reached out for him, unthinkingly, for the last time.
When Susan could again laugh with Peter, Edmund and Lucy, her beautiful children, named for their uncles and aunt, thinking of what they would think of her. Edmund would no doubt love to have seen her pretty clothes ruined by grubby little hands and spit up. Susan had quite loved it herself.
She was… not happy but she had found her place in the world again. Susan had learned to live again. She was not High Queen Susan the Gentle anymore. She was Susan Lyons, mother, wife, assistant to a judge. She didn't feel so raw anymore.
Her children were a handful sometimes. Susan didn't know how her mother had coped. Sometimes Susan had felt the dark shadow that had lived over her after her family had died, the shadow that she could admit had lived over her for far longer than that, return to try take her over once again. But Susan had her children, her husband, her friends – her new family – to help her those days.
On those days, Susan was grateful for her children. They loved stories, and Susan found she loved to indulge them in that.
One rainy day, when their father was out, and all the books had been read, even the dictionary, Susan had opened the story in her head.
She told of a young girl who had found a wardrobe, who had trusted a stranger, who had healed the wounded, who had believed. She told of a young boy who had foolishly trusted a witch, and became far greater for his failure, of how betrayal turned to redemption, of how foolishness had made him wise, just. She told of an older boy, but still so young, who had led an army to defeat a witch, who had killed a wolf to save his sisters. She told of a girl who had been gentle and beautiful, who hadn't believed, who had been hurt by her home leaving her behind. She told of the knights she had loved, of battles fought and won, and lost. She told of days ruling and of, one day, finding a familiar lamppost. She told of a beautiful boy who would grow to be king, one day. She told of an arrogant boy, with a horrid name, who turned into a dragon and became a better person for it.
She told of a tragic day when those heroes took their last journey but that they finished among the stars. She told them of the beautiful queen that they had left behind.
Susan leaned close into the awestruck faces of her darling children and whispered to them, "sometimes, I think I can find them when I look at the stars. I hope that, one day, I will."
Susan still cried for her family. But she felt a new sense of peace when her tears were wiped away by her adoring husband. She felt a comforting warmth at every, daily hug from little Lucy. She felt a swelling in her heart when brave Peter gave her a kiss whenever she wasn't feeling happy. She felt a flush of pride when her heroic Edmund broke up fights between his classmates and his brother.
Susan felt a sense of belonging in the world that only intensified when, after putting her darlings to bed, she gazed out into the dark outside her window and spotted, just for a second, a golden lion prowling through her garden.
She would see her siblings again. They would wait for her. But now, it was time to live in the real world. She had found Narnia once more.