The first thing she noticed when Susan opened her eyes was the flowers in a vase on the nightstand. They were in the shape of a bell, with soft white petals with a hint of pink at the edges, the flowers embraced by long green strands. For a moment, Susan simply gazed at their beauty, her head resting on soft pillow. A soft breath. But then a sense of wrongness crept in, the bed was too big, too soft. The light making its way through the room was too bright. And the flowers, there were no flowers like that in either America or England.
At once, Susan became carefully aware of her surroundings and of herself. She slowly rose from her position in the bed, her eyes searching and scanning for some kind of sign that could explain where she was. The bedroom, or perhaps bedchamber might be a better fitting word for it, was huge with a considerable fireplace, lilac armchairs and cushions, books scattered across the room, and a balcony, it's view visible from the bed.
Susan slowly rose from the bed, her eyes on the shimmering sea outside. A soft morning breeze had made its way into the room and caressed Susan's face. Her hand went to grasp her necklace but her hand only met her neck. She stopped. She wasn't wearing her cross. It seemed terribly important.
She turned to a mirror in the corner of the room. Her neck was empty. She was wearing a dress, a soft green that fell to her ankles. When had she ever worn anything other than black. Her hair was surprisingly long and surprisingly dark, although Susan could not understand why either was surprising. She met her own eyes in the mirror and it was the strange familiarity of the situation that made Susan realize where she was. It felt as if she once again stood by the phone, trembling hands stretching for it, the remaining hope dying at her fingertips, the moment before she lost it all. Repressed memories and whispered doubts made their way to the surface as Susan again turned to the balcony and understood where she was. Narnia.
It didn't answer the question of when and why she was here. But she didn't want to spend more time than necessary in the unfamiliar room so she picked up a comb with sharp edges and hid it in her hand. Better than nothing.
Susan carefully grasped the door handle and opened the chamber door. She stuck her head out, glancing up and down the hall. She didn't see anyone. Letting out a breath, she stepped out and closed the door behind her. What next? She didn't recognize the hallway, nor was there any clue visible. Light fell through a window further down the hall, so Susan made her way there. A guard appeared just as she was about to reach the window. The guard bowed his head at Susan, and she tried to smile, to act normal and casual, even though she had never been this lost before. At least, never been this lost, alone, before.
The guard passed her and Susan reached the window and gazed at the green view that greeted her. And as if someone wanted to play with her, just as Susan recognized the forest outside, chatter could be heard behind her and Susan turned to see her baby brother. She dropped the comb. He was gesturing with his hands, clad in a purple tunic and suddenly it hurt. Half-finished books, games of chess, messy bed, "identify him for us, miss", glares, quick hugs, green forests, laughter, brown hair against black.
"Edmund," Susan screeched, running towards her, now alarmed, brother, and throwing her arms around him, silencing her half-screams into his shoulders. The pain came back in full, and Susan couldn't hold him closer, couldn't remove the ache even if she never let him go and for a moment it drowned her. It felt as if she would die of it. She cried into his shoulders, gasping for air and begging for the pain to stop.
"Su," Edmund said, alarmed and confused. "What's wrong?"
But Susan couldn't do anything but cry, decades of pain rolling onto her, regrets flying up to the surface and words she never said choked her. It took them almost half an hour to convince her to let go.
A doctor inspected her, with kind eyes and an understanding face. He didn't mind Edmund's pacing and Susan's difficulty at answering his questions. He carefully cradled Susan's face, and studied it. Susan knew she must look insane. And she wasn't completely sure that she wasn't. The rush of emotion had drained her. The doctor asked her subtle questions, about recent events and then about her memory. But Susan didn't feel safe enough to tell them that she had no idea where she was, or why she was there. In the end, the doctor gave her a tea and told her to take it carefully. He'd be in touch.
Edmund led her out in the corridor and, with a surprisingly gentle touch to the small of her back, led her down the corridor. Susan sipped her tea and let herself be led. She felt exhausted, but didn't want to part from her brother, because the last time she had, it had been the last time she'd even seen him. She wanted to ask, but was afraid to concern him even more.
"Are you certain that everything's fine, Su?"
She sighed, but nodded at the floor, not having the energy to meet his eyes.
"Really," he dragged out the word. "Because the last time I saw you this hysterical, you were with child, and that day was chaos."
With child? For a second she was thrown off, and her breath hitched, but as if her brain decided that it couldn't handle anything else today, she shook it off. Deal with it later. Edmund stopped outside a door, and sent Susan a look she couldn't read. "Okay, so I may have sent word and told him what happened and he asked us to come here... "
"Yes?" Susan prodded when Edmund trailed off.
Edmund sighed, "Peter's in there, but I need to be sure that it won't be a reprise of what just happened, okay?"
Golden hair, golden smile, squeezing her hand, shared worries, shared responsibilities, a neatly done bed, a farewell note, studies, countless books on the floor, maps, kings and queens and queens and kings, a golden sun.
"I'll be fine."
Edmund opened the door and the moment Susan saw her older brother, she sank to the floor crying.
"Our definitions of the word 'fine' seem to differ, Susan."
Susan chuckled meekly at Edmund's sarcastic comment, her head resting on Peter's' shoulder, his arm around her. Deep in thought, Peter absently stroked her arm. Susan closed her eyes and tried to swallow the grief that still sat so hard in her chest. But if anything, she was tired. The emotional and confusing happenings of the still early day had left her in a tired, and drained bubble. Peter had handled Susan's breakdown better than Edmund, he was immediately at her side and managed to comfort her, without knowing what was wrong, and also coax her into the room and getting her to breathe evenly again. Edmund had meanwhile stood beside them, a bit awkwardly, looking slightly lost and out of place. Susan understood the feeling.
Peter shifted beside her, "Su, did something happen?"
She opened her eyes and found his. His eyes were easier to meet. He understood. Maybe not this though. Susan shook her head. Peter's eyebrows wrinkled.
"You sure can be a bit dramatic, and you've been hysterical at times, but nothing like Ed describes. Something must be amiss."
"Well, except that time last year when she d-"
Edmund was silenced with a look from Peter and Susan felt an overwhelming need to laugh, because she had no idea what Edmund was referring to, why she was overreacting, and why she was here. She had no idea why both her brothers were alive in front of her. But in that moment, Susan decided that it was quite enough. For now, she would be satisfied sitting there with her brothers. Explanations, answers could come tomorrow. For now, it was enough.
"You know what," she said, a lot more quiet and tired than she had planned. "We can talk about it tomorrow. I'm so tired right now. Let me sleep, and then we'll talk."
Edmund nodded and jumped to his feet, stretching his hand out. "Want me to walk you back to your room?"
Susan made to stand up, but didn't get far before her legs went out and Peter's grip on her arm tightened. Her older brother shook his head. "You can sleep here for now, Su. It'll be alright."
Susan nodded and let herself be half led, half carried to the bed by her brothers. She felt a lump in her throat, when they bid her goodnight. ("Or well, good day." "Ed.") Please be here when I wake up. I cannot bear it if you're not. Before she fell asleep, she heard the birds chirping outside.
A man was sitting at the edge of the bed, making shushing noises to something in his arms, when Susan woke up. She first thought the dark-haired man was Edmund, but the latter's hair wasn't as long, or as brown. Her body recognized him before her brain did and her heart was beating, goosebumps evident on her arms, and a sudden fear and ache appeared in her belly, when he glanced back at her, then turning completely when noticing that she was awake. He smiled at her.
At once, Susan was afraid. But the thing that made her cry this time, wasn't the concerned look on his face, not the crown on his head, or the noticeable ageing he had done since she last saw him. It wasn't his Telmarine eyes that threw her off. It was the brown-haired baby in his arms.