Author's Notes: Hum, well, my muse returned on Thursday with this story but, well, the earthquake happened. Even though nothing big happened at my house (except being trapped at my bunk bed for the duration of the earthquake), I think we are all still in shock about it. Many thank to Jackidy for beta-reading this.

Chosen Path

While Lucy would tell you that it was being a grown up that Susan missed most from her time in Narnia, the older female would deny it firmly. Polly would add something unflattering about make-up and parties, saying that the girl had lost her head amidst the flatter she received, but the female stated that she couldn't care less about it. Peter, when under pressure would state that she couldn't find Aslan in England and thus she had lost herself.

Susan, if she would have been asked, would have answer that what she missed most was being a Queen.

When she had been living in Narnia, Susan had been the Gentle Queen by her own right, more often than not keeping the land in order while her brothers got into trouble and her sister followed them right to it. In Narnia, she had been an equal to her brothers and no one would dare question her word for someone else. She had decided and her orders had been followed, she had commanded and her command had been law.

But in England, she was but a common girl with a mouth to big for her and the brain of a male.

In her birth land, Susan's words were worthless and nothing she did would weight the same that what a male's work. In England she was foolish for looking to improve any lives but her husband's and her authority would never equal a man's. Here she was powerless, stuck in an awkward body that didn't feel her own, a people who looked at her and saw at best a pretty face, a proper thing to boost as one's wife.

Peter, she knew, could have risen in this world. He had the right temperament, a likeable manner and the will to succeed. He would have been a King without a crown, yes, but a King none the less. Edmund would say that it was because he had always been a King, but then again Edmund has always been quick to raise Peter too high and put himself too low, the White Witch taught him well in that regard.

Dear Lucy would have been happy in the dirtiest, most miserable place as long as she had her dear ones close. Her heart was too big for anything less. Her joy, her faith, could move the coldest of creatures, only a complete monster would stand the force of her smile. It was her nature, valiant, faithful, and Susan couldn't find it in herself to begrudge her, as hard as her mind tried to.

Her younger brother, not only akin to her in looks but in temperament, was the one who understood her best. He saw what others missed, by will or ignorance, so he wouldn't repeat past mistakes. He had accepted, with that grave face of his, that there were things one couldn't regain, less of all accept, no matter what Faithful Lucy or Magnificent Peter felt about the matter. Edmund, after all, felt the same pain she felt at her situation when Peter stared at a enrolment office or at a wounded soldier.

The Just King couldn't follow the High King into battle when he rode off after all, as much as he would want too. She supposed it was a good thing he never had the chance to do so.

So Susan, to the best of her abilities had endured the reproach, sometimes sorrowful, sometimes full of rage, because she knew in her heart that it was not born from anything else than love. Love for her and love for the place they all hold before all others. Love for the land she locked within herself for her own sake, for her peace of mind.

And when the news came she wasn't sad, she knew they had gone home after all. When the news came no tears left her eyes. If anyone found this strange at all she didn't mind, let them think it was shock from loss or some sort of foolish pride. Why would she when she knew they had gone home? When she knew them safe? And if her eyes had grown misty when she found Edmund's letter in his room, short note that warned her they would be waiting, no-one would begrudge her, him less of all.

Grief was something she didn't spare a single thought, her time was better spend in other matters, other plans and dreams. For if she had to leave her home, her people, and then she would make the best of it. Susan had spent many years rebuilding and ruling Narnia as the Gentle Queen. There was no reason Susan Pensive couldn't do the same in England, even if her help wasn't wanted and the changes come slowly and painfully. She was stubborn and, truth is told, a bit vindictive.

Edmund would have said that she was simply being her rarely shown contrary self.

"My child" Susan froze as the velvet voice reached her, almost like a caress of past times. She had been putting the last of Lucy's thing on a box to be given away, the rest of the house packed already when she felt Him. "Susan."

The female didn't turn, afraid that her temper would get the best of her. While few had seen it, Susan's fury was as frightening as her brothers, only beaten by the sight of Lucy's wrath. No-one could stand Lucy's wrath. "You are angry at me."

"Yes, I suppose I'm quite angry at you." The pain and fury clung tingly to the words, but she raised her hand without turning, feeling the belted fur in her palm. "...But I think with time I shall forgive you."

"You shall be fine on your own." The Lion said at least, his presence fading slowly, leaving behind the echo of a comforting breath. "We will be waiting, Gentle Queen."

"...Thank you." Her rage would fade, in due time, but for now Susan felt content in it, a cloak wrapped in too tender wounds. She might not have her sister faith or her brother's brilliance. She might not hold Edmund's wise understanding. But Susan was, if nothing else, patient. And would serve her better than anything else in her path.

It was how she chose it afterall.

Author's Notes: Another look to Susan's attitude in the Last Battle, because there is never just one answer. There is always another side.