A/N: I know that things of this sort have been done before, but it just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope that it's not going over too much old ground. Please review!
Disclaimer: I do not own Narnia or the Pevensies.
We are the Night
Edmund Pevensie was worried about his sister Susan.
Edmund was usually worried about one or more of his siblings. He was that kind of boy. He worried about Peter and his final exams. He worried about Lucy and her new school. But lately, as usual, it was Susan who was worrying him most.
He didn't think the others had noticed. Susan had always been good at hiding her feelings, masking them beneath a calm façade. But Edmund, who knew his sister well, had seen it. He'd seen her face after Lucy's birthday tea, when the twelve-year-old had reminisced with her siblings about her "first" twelfth birthday; he'd seen the pain on Susan's face, before she hid it quickly beneath a gentle smile. He'd seen her face since, the line creased on her forehead as it always did when she was making a decision. And he'd seen the look on her face as she'd come here today, the tight lips that meant she was steeling herself for something.
Edmund had always been concerned about Susan. He remembered her reaction to his and Lucy's third and final visit to Narnia. She had been delighted, yes, but there had been something else there too. Again, Peter and Lucy hadn't noticed. They were both too carefree and vibrant. He and Susan, though, didn't have that easy happiness, that simple joy. They were darker, and more doubtful, but Edmund knew that there was beauty and strength in darkness, if one knew where to look.
He knew. He had known since that first visit to Narnia, when he had had his fall. But he wasn't sure about Susan. He watched her, sitting upright in her chair, her hands twisting in her lap. Another sign that she was nervous. She caught Edmund's eye and looked away.
He turned instead to Lucy. It was the solstice, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. They always celebrated the solstices, at Lucy's insistence. "We are still Narnian at heart," she would say. And they would agree. Or they used to.
He glanced at Susan again. She was biting her lip – a sure sign that her control was beginning to weaken. Peter, sitting between them, was completely oblivious, happily reminiscing with Lucy about the solstice celebrations of the fifth (or was it the sixth?) year of the Golden Age.
Abruptly, Susan stood. Peter trailed off, with a glance at her face. Even he couldn't mistake that expression. Lucy saw it, and she too fell silent.
"Don't you think," said Susan, "that it's time we all grew up?"
Edmund's heart sank. He had been afraid that it would come to this. He'd been willing himself to believe otherwise, that his sister Susan, his reliable, sensible, wonderful sister Susan, would be strong.
He thought that Lucy might have some idea of what was going on, too. He wondered if she'd seen it from the start. Carefree she may have been, but she always saw things deeply, his younger sister. Her smile was gone, and her face was full of concern.
Peter, however, was utterly bewildered.
"What do you mean?" he asked Susan, frowning.
Susan took a deep breath. "I think we're all a little old for children's games, Peter. It's time we accepted that that's what they were. Games."
"Susan!" It was Lucy, this time. "You can't! Of course it was real!"
"We convinced ourselves it was real, Lucy." Edmund could see Susan's confidence growing, even as she paled. "We made ourselves believe it. It made it easier, in that big house, all by ourselves, away from our friends and family. But you're twelve now, Lucy, you're old enough to accept the truth."
"Susan, stop that," said Peter, standing up too. "We all know the truth. Don't you remember?"
"I remember a game that we played, a childhood game, Peter. That's all. It's time we all stopped living in the past. We have our own lives to lead, now. It's time to accept that none of it – Narnia, Aslan, Caspian – none of it was real."
Oh, Susan. Edmund knew what she was doing. He thought that there was probably a better way, but he knew there was nothing he could say. There was nothing he could do – not here, not now. He just watched her, his darling sister, Susan, the peacemaker, the bringer of harmony and gentleness. He watched her tear his family apart.
"That's not true," said Lucy tearfully. Edmund could see that, while she may have seen part of this coming, only he truly knew how Susan felt.
"No, Lucy," said Susan, her voice tight. "You know, deep down, that I'm right."
She turned, as Edmund knew she would, and strode away from the table.
"I'm going out," she said, and Edmund saw the brightness in her eyes. "I won't be back for dinner." She left the room, and they heard her moving down the hall.
Peter and Lucy both started after her, but Edmund was already at the door into the hall. He shook his head, and they stopped. Peter enveloped Lucy in a tight hug, and fixed Edmund with a clear gaze. Edmund knew what that look meant. Fix it, Peter was pleading. Please, fix it.
He felt terrible, worse than he had felt in years. They both trusted him to make it all right, as he had so many times before. But this time, it was different. He knew that he wouldn't be able to fix it. Not now. He avoided Peter's eyes and turned back after Susan.
She was already out of the door, making her way towards the gate. Her walk was steady, but Edmund knew her well, and he could tell when she was crying.
"Susan." She stopped, but did not turn around. "It's me. Edmund."
"Don't try to stop me, Ed," she said, still with her back to him. "Please. I just can't do it anymore."
"I know." He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, Susan."
She turned to him now, her face streaked with tears. "You always knew, Ed," she whispered. "The others could never see it, but you always could."
"Peter and Lucy are the day, Susan, the sun and the clear blue sky, the joy and the hope. We are the night, you and I, and it's harder for us."
Susan stepped back, and took her hand from his face. "What are you saying?" There was fear in her voice.
"There is beauty in the night, Susan. Remember that. All may be dark, but the moon will emerge from behind the cloud, and the stars can guide your path."
"Edmund. Stop it." She took another step back. "I told you, I can't. Not anymore."
"I'm not stopping you, Susan," he said. "I just want you to know."
"What?" Susan wiped away her tears. "What, Edmund?"
"That there is always a way back, Susan."
She stared at him for a long moment, and then turned away. Edmund watched her go, watched her turn out of sight at the end of the street. He sighed, and looked up at the darkening sky, at the evening star shining above. He would have to tell Peter and Lucy now, tell them that she was gone. They would not understand.
He understood. He knew his sister's pain, for it was his own. But he, Edmund, had fallen before, and he could not do so again. He could only trust, trust his sister Susan, trust that, in the end, she too would return stronger than ever. But he remembered his fall, he remembered its pain, and he knew that Susan's would not be any easier.
He wiped away a single tear for his sister Susan, and turned back to the door.
She was gone.