A/N: The story takes place before the train wreck, but while the Pevensies are living in England. I've spent so much time perfecting this oneshot and am finally posting it. I've always thought Peter would not just accept Susan's fate without first assuring himself that she was truly never returning. Also, many authors I believe inaccurately portray why Susan acts the way she does. This story reflects on what I believe to be her true motives and a final plea before tragedy. Hopefully everyone will enjoy my very first serious Narnian story!
Disclaimer: I do not own C.S. Lewis or Narnia in any shape or form.
Summary: I'll always remember that cold winter day Peter visited me for the last time.
Peter.
He was on my porch. He was standing a few feet away... on my porch?
I was dreaming, surely I was.
I blinked, but he was still there, his golden hair ruffled from the wind.
He was tall, taller than I remembered, yet he looked so small with his head hunched and hands in his pockets.
Peter.
The sun beat down upon his face, whipping a curious, almost ethereal glow. A familiar sense of warmth breathed through me. A cozy blanket seemed to wrap me up and hold me in a loving, reassuring embrace. I smiled absently. I had forgotten the feeling of warmth...of peace. I had forgotten my brother.
He was still Peter.
He was magnificent.
Magnificent? The words seemed so familiar. Why are they so fitting for him? I wondered.
Then I remembered. Four thrones in a vast room made of stone and gold. Two kings, two queens...Queen Lucy the Valiant, King Edmund the Just, King Peter the Magnificent and– My smile faded and a frown replaced it.
Standing stock still, I thought I smelt flowers in bloom and the lulling of a summer's morning, but my frown deepened and I pushed the thoughts away. The scent died just as quickly.
Shaking away the memories, I noticed him gazing at me. His mouth shaped a thin line. Our eyes met and he looked down. He was nervous I knew, but I hadn't a clue what to say and kept silent. A visit from my brother wasn't going to be pleasant. It couldn't be.
Peter sighed and cleared his throat. "Hi Susan," he said. He attempted to smile, his blue eyes shining with sincerity.
My mouth hung. He smiled– not a genuine, white-teeth smile, but he tried nonetheless. It was then I realized, he was visiting– not to annoy or infuriate me, but to have a civilized conversation and talk with his sister.
My mouth still stood wide open. I could feel it begin to sag with a half confused, half stunned expression. I was surprised. The thought occurred to me (several times in fact) that I should say something. Maybe invite him inside or something... anything... but the only word that came out of my mouth was a meek, "Hi." My brain was stuck in a stupor.
Abruptly, the wind picked up and brought shivers down my spine. Taking a deep frosty breathe, I hugged my chest, and backed inside a few steps trying to hide from the winter gust.
My brother's mouth curved downwards. He looked disappointed and I hadn't a clue why. Was he upset with me? I wondered. Did I say something wrong? Then I realized
I hadn't said two words to him. I hadn't even invited him inside like any civilized person. Where were my manners?
"Do, come in," I waved. Peter brightened immediately and he walked inside.
I shut the door and couldn't help but watch him closely. He didn't speak, he didn't move, he just stood in a straight line in the midst of my apartment. His rugged coat hugged about him, shoulders stiff, solid...uncomfortable. I motioned for the coat rack and he seemed to redden a bit immediately taking it off.
I sighed, my brother was acting strangely shy, which was odd. He normally took command of the situation, or at the very least spoke, but he was doing neither. It was unnerving.
I wasn't sure what to make of it. I found myself staring rather absently at the room searching for something to do. My eyes traveled to the stove and an idea struck me.
Tea! A nice cup of hot tea to break the silence. It was brilliant, I thought. I grabbed a pot and filled it with water. "Would you like some tea?" I asked with a glance. His eyes trailed to the floor.
"No thank you," he replied. I frowned, what in the world! Something was most definitely wrong, why else was he acting so peculiar. And why in the world didn't he want tea?
I sighed inwardly, it was the first time any of my siblings visited me, but it was becoming more like pulling teeth. I very much wished Lucy was here, because she would know what to do. She is blessed with the gift of putting people at ease... but I am not fortunate enough to have such a gift.
I stared at the pot in my hand. "Is-is it ok if I have a cup?" I couldn't believe my ears, I was asking for permission to have tea in my own house. I hoped he didn't notice.
Peter only nodded.
I grabbed a cup from the cupboard and looked at him again. I wished he would sit down or move or speak or something, but he didn't. I wondered if his boots were melted to the floor and he was too embarrassed to mention it, but I shook away the thought immediately.
Instead, I attempted to take comfort in the water boiling in the pot, but the fact he was standing there quietly, and awkwardly was extremely distracting. I couldn't bare the silence any longer.
"Please, sit down," I said trying to sound casual. He nodded again. I sighed, I wished he would stop nodding and speak instead. Of course, my brother couldn't hear my rambling thoughts and simply sat on the couch.
Glancing at him from afar, I thought I caught a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he a gazed at a picture hanging on the wall. I frowned.
I knew the picture well. Everyday I spend hours staring at it, wishing I could go back in time. Back to the days when Lucy and I would talk hours after bedtime. Back to the period when Peter and I could talk about anything. I wish I could go back to those golden years...then I might've said something like "come now, Peter, what's wrong?" but that was then. Now we were practically strangers and all I could do was frown.
After pouring myself a nice cup of hot tea, I sat across from him on an old rocking chair the Professor had given to me for my birthday several years ago. It was a beautiful chair, made of furbished cherry wood. Quite often I wondered if the professor had only bestowed me the gift to remind me of an old game that I tried so diligently to forget. He (along with my siblings) never accepted I was an adult, and that adults don't play silly games.
Peter sat quietly staring at his palms. He looked at them intently, fiddling and prodding. It might have been amusing to watch if we were on speaking terms. A few years ago I may have called him out on it, we might have laughed at the gesture – which was so unusual for my normally self assured brother.
Several seconds past and nothing changed. More time passed the clock ticked, and I found myself becoming frustrated. The silence was suffocating.
Finally, I spoke. "How have you been?" I asked, taking a sip of the hot tea.
"Alright..." he replied shortly. "And you?"
"Same." I said, feeling the silence return. Now he was staring at the floor, I sighed. He wanted to tell me something– possibly something important, but he was avoiding it.
Knowing my brother well enough, I figured his awkward behavior meant one of two things. He didn't want to tell me or, he didn't know how to tell me– either one was disconcerting, but I needed to know.
I sat forward in the familiar rocking chair, the warm cup in my palm, and gave him an expectant glare. He didn't speak and I decided he needed goading. "Peter, are you going to tell me why you're here?"
He sighed, switching from fidgeting with his hands to fidgeting with his hat. "Well...yes," he acknowledged. He looked up with a half smile and nervous shake of the head.
"Well, what is it?"
My brother sighed. "Well Su," he swallowed, "something very grave has happened..."
My heart skipped a beat. Grave? Instantly my thoughts drifted to the worst. Someone had died! Lucy? Edmund? Mother? Father, it must be father! I shuddered. "What happened?"
He took a deep breath and spoke slowly and cautiously "It's Narnia, Susan. It needs our help."
I froze.
"Narnia..." I whispered. Here I was believing someone died and he was talking about "Narnia..." I repeated, I shaking my head in disgust. If I wasn't so aghast and appalled, I might have noticed the sadness in my brother's eyes.
I didn't care for Narnia. He knew it. Yet Peter always had a need to bring it up, especially at family gatherings. My younger brother Edmund would insist in supporting Peter's accusations. He acted more like a father than an older brother. We always wound up getting into a raging argument. Peter fuming, Edmund defensive, and I, irritated beyond measure. Thankfully, Lucy would interrupt, pointing out how foolish we were being. "We're family," she would say, "can't we just get along?" She was right of course. Though it never stopped me from complaining about the absurdity of it all.
"Peter, I don't play that silly game anymore." My typical response.
Peter's lips stretched a thin line. His eyes drifted away. I was positive he expected my reply, but why was he being so quiet?
"Narnians could die if we don't help them," he whispered. "Your people...the people you once served, they're in danger Susan."
My people in danger? My mind flashed– I saw a castle of ominous and bitter ice. I saw a naked lion exhaling a final breathe and a dark haired boy gasping for life– My people were in danger. Narnia needed help. I had a responsibility as a queen, I had to help. But– I blinked and I remembered the day I was banished forever. I shook my head, I was explicitly told... "Peter," I shook my head, "I can't."
He didn't speak. He didn't scream. He didn't throw a fit. He was still.
His gaze locked onto mine.
I was struck by how different he was. He seemed controlled, calm even. Still persistent as ever, but quietly so. And he was serious, but not fuming serious. My older brother had grown up.
"Your different," I said simply.
"So are you."
His eyes were sad. Dark. Hopeless. He stood and I knew he was disappointed. I followed
him in bitter silence to the door.
With one lingering look he said farewell. He turned to leave, but stopped himself. He looked at me straight and solemn.
"Just tell me one thing... Why?" He asked, his voice raspy. "Why did you move away? W-why did you stop talking with me... and Ed... and poor Lucy? She loves you so..." He frowned and shook his head. "And why, in the Lion's name, do you hide your beautiful face behind that make-up?" He leaned in closer, gazing at me with the most bewildered, loving expression I had ever seen.
I wanted to cry. My gaze drifted to the ground. I opened my mouth, but my voice faltered. Why? Why?
I very well knew why.
I spent endless years pretending Narnia didn't exist. I wasted my time hiding. I hid from my siblings because they reminded me of the golden years (a time I can never return). I moved away because I couldn't stand the reality that I was changing. I left everyone I loved. In the process, I lost myself.
But how could I repay a debt that is long overdue? How could I return to what long had been forgotten? Time does not wait...I couldn't.
My brother shifted his feet and sighed. He was frustrated. I was frustrated... at myself, but I had no choice.
He turned to leave, and a pang of guilt hit me. He had come all the way out here for answers. He deserved to know I loved him. He deserved to know the truth.
"Peter, I'm sorry," I cried.
He looked up in surprise.
"I'm sorry..." Tears welled in my eyes. I let them fall. "I'm so sorry. I...I can't."
His sad, broken blue eyes locked onto my teary hazel one's. He wanted to wrap me in his warm arms like when we were children. He wanted to whisper in my ear and say everything would be ok. He wanted me to go with him back to Finchley. He wanted the old Susan back, but I couldn't.
I shook me head, tears streaming down cheeks. I was not a child anymore. I couldn't pretend like nothing had changed. I had lost everything in Narnia. I couldn't survive another blow. I had moved on from the past. I could never go back.
"I'm so terribly sorry..." I sobbed
"I know," he whispered. "I am too." With those words, Peter Pevensie left.
I breathed in the seemingly warm winter air, and for one brief moment, I thought I saw the face of a lion. A moment later, the warmth disappeared and the cold, unforgiving sting replaced it.