AN: I wrote a scary amount of spinoff fic, mostly from inside Susan's head, while WillowDryad was writing Counted Among the Traitors. Posting pieces of it now, because I've been thinking about Susan and Lucy again, and some OCs that show up in the Lost King made their first appearances here.

Her eyes were red with weeping. The tears she had shed in seven months were like the grains of sand on the beach below the castle: too many to be counted. When first they were faced with the full extent of his treason, she had fled to her chambers and wept—deep, wracking sobs, for herself bereaved, her family broken, her country left without a judge, and her baby brother exiled. Somehow, somewhere, he had gone wrong. She had failed. She was the elder sister, the caretaker. Hers was the task of ensuring all ran smoothly, that each man did his appointed task, that none went wrong. And he had, and she wept.

Weeping, she had pleaded for him with their elder brother, the High King, but at last there was no more to say. At last she had steeled herself, bitten her lip until it bled, and with shaking hand, signed the decree drawn up by the Lord High Counselor. But she could not bring herself to be present when he was publicly named traitor and cast from the land, and she told the High King that their sister was still far too ill to be left alone. There were new, weary lines in his face, but he acquiesced, sadly kissing her forehead before he walked away, his shoulders stooped and his head bowed.

The tears continued to fall all the next morning as she sat by her sister's bedside, sponging her hot forehead and weeping. A dryad came in with fresh, cool water. She looked up with red-rimmed eyes and asked, "Is it over?"

The dryad nodded and said cheerily, "The traitor is gone. Long live our Sovereigns!"

Almost savagely she snapped, "Why did you tell me? This is not a day for rejoicing!"

Frightened by her sudden outburst, the dryad hastened away. Alone once more, she rose and went to the window, hoping for one last glimpse of him yet not knowing if she could bear to see him again. Gone. The troop of soldiers must have already passed (and the window didn't even face west, she suddenly realized). They would march him up the Great River. Down the River Rush. He would be on foot. They would leave him at the top of the pass. Watch him cross into Archenland. That was fifteen leagues' journey! she thought wildly. Did he have enough food? A message would certainly be sent to King Lune, if he didn't already know. Would he be turned away? Where would he go? How would he survive the desert? She began to pray, as she always did when her brothers left the castle. "Aslan, Great Lion, watch over him. Smooth the road before him, warm the wind at his back, and strengthen his sword arm. Dear Aslan, please guard him, protect him, and—"

Bring him home again. With a sob, she stopped herself. No longer. She had signed.

Her eyes were dried and she had washed her face by the time her elder brother-her only brother—returned, sunburned, grimy, weary, and stiffly composed, from his killing gallop up the coast, away from it all. She suspected that, no mater how hard he ran, he could never escape himself, but she said nothing. That first evening, no one said anything. Even the Lord High Counselor was sorrowful and silent. That night, she cried herself to sleep in the chair beside her sister's bed.

The next morning she rose before dawn. Life must go on. Life would go on. It was up to her to keep it running smoothly. After that, she wore a narrow ribbon, black in her black hair, for the brother they had lost. After that, she planned and decorated, and tried to somehow incorporate the black-draped throne into her plans. After that, she hosted dinners and balls and dances, grateful that Peter never complained when he must dance with both sisters equally, grateful that the Lord High Counselor never minded dancing with her to fill their two-couple set for the line dances. After that, she picked brimbleberries and blueberries and strawberries and baked pies and found them untouched in the evening.

After that, she never wept before midnight.