A/N: This is an older bit that I've had lurking about on my computer for quite some time. Please review! Yell at me all you want. I've gotten fairly good at taking what I can use to help improve my writing and leaving the rest, so I don't take negative comments personally. Constructive criticism is preferred though.
Susan kneels in front of a chest, running her finger over the latch. The sorrow that hung over her for months now had quieted to a silence inside of her. The sort of silence that meant she had come to terms with…what had happened, but couldn't find it in her to laugh at what should be funny, or smile. She was just quiet. She played with the latch, a part of her longed to open it, but a larger part of her couldn't.
She had been over all of their belongings, Mum, Dad, Peter, Edmund, Lucy's belongings, all except for the trunk. The very last thing she had yet to go over was Lucy's little trunk. Gritting her teeth against tears she swings open the lid. An elegant dress, which looks as if it was been made for Lucy when she was much younger than she was now, or had been, covered the top. Lifting it out, Susan drapes the little dress over her lap, running a finger over the stitches. The sewing is so different from anything she has ever seen, and yet, so familiar. With a flash, she remembers where she had seen it.
"Long live King Peter! Long live Queen Susan! Long live King Edmund! Long live Queen Lucy!" Voices call from her memory.
The coronation. Yes that was it. But with a vigorous shake of her head, Susan scolds herself. That was all pretend, Narnia is all pretend. You never were a queen. She has been telling herself this for so long she nearly forgot why she clings so fiercely to the idea that their childhood games had all been pretend, despite her disbelief, a small part of her stirred with a sort of joy at the site of the dress.
"Lucy must have picked it up at a thrift shop; it probably reminded her of the games we played." Even whispering the words aloud do not convince that small part of her that the games had been imaginary, so she folds the dress and sets it aside.
Digging in, she stretches her fingers out for the next little object in the box. Her hand closes around the spine of a book, pulling it out; she see's that it was a sketchbook. Scrawled on the cover in Lucy's handwriting are the words "Memories of Narnia". A little sob choked Susan's throat as she opened the book. There on the first page was the drawing of what looked like, a lamppost? Bending closer, that same something that had jumped at the site of the dress stirred within her again at the site of the lamppost. Running a finger over the faded pencil lines, she turns the page, squinting her eyes against the familiar form that leaps out at her. Just in time. The sight of him had been too quick, the grief hadn't choked her. She sat that way for a few minutes, longing to look at the sketch, but afraid of the emotions that would come with it. Her breath shuddered in her throat, and she opened her eyes to bend over the drawings again.
Tears trail from her eyes and down her cheeks, grief chokes her throat as she knew it would, but still she doesn't close the book. It is Peter, but not Peter as she had known him last. He is older, with a little bit of stubble on his chin, in chain mail. Dwarf mail, A part of her mind corrects her. He holds his sword aloft, a shield with a lion on his other arm, and his smile, he looked so happy, so very happy. The High King. Peter the Magnificent. She doesn't bother to squelch the voice in her mind that spoke of Narnia now. A smile dared cross her face as she studies the drawing. A part of her wishes to draw him right out of the page, to bring him back to life, her older brother, the High King, either of them. They had been the same person though lately, he had been more and more like the High King as he grew up, how come she never saw that until now? She could have told him, he would have liked that. But now it was too late.
The page directly opposite is of Edmund, also older, wiser looking as well. He scolds a young boy, maybe ten, both dressed for battle. Something flickers in her, she knows the boy, why can't she remember his name? Corin. The small part of her supplies the answer. Of course, Prince Corin of Archeland, This time the grief presses in and she feels as if she will drown. She cries for both Edmund the Just and Prince Corin. The tears dry on her cheeks and she smiles at Edmund, looking so fatherly. Hadn't they told her afterwards about the battle, and Corin's insistence on fighting? Susan had loved him. No she corrected herself fiercely. Queen Susan had loved him; Susan herself had never been to Narnia. But for the first time since returning to the train station after the second visit, the part of her that believed was larger, and stronger than the part that didn't believe. Susan relished the drawing for a minute more, and then turned the page.
She flipped through countless pages, each stirring something within her, each bringing back a memory. There were the Beaver's, and Mr. Tumnus, Aravis and Cor, Trumpkin. And then came pictures that Lucy had told her about, of an adventure that Susan had scoffed at, but still listened to. The Dawn Treader, Caspian a bit older, The ship's crew, Eustace playing Chess with Reepicheep, The Star's Daughter and funny little creatures with one great foot. Susan laughs at these, remembering Lucy telling her about them. Then, she turns the page, the last page, and her tears stop, her soul fills with fear, and amazement and joy. There, roaring out of the page, is a lion. Not even Lucy's drawing skills did him the justice he deserved, but there he was.
"Aslan, oh Aslan I am sorry I doubted. It was real; it was all real wasn't it?" She whispered aloud, and wasn't surprised when no audible answer came. But still, a part of her tingled with joy, and for the first time in months, she was sure that they were all right now. All safe with him.
Setting aside the journal, Susan looks once more into the chest, but this time not with dread. There's another book full of pressed leaves and bits of flowers.
"How on earth did Lucy manage to get all this stuff back with her?" She muses aloud to herself.
The next item she picks up is a small coin purse. Curious, she pulls the clasp open and the contents tumble out onto her palm. With a laugh she examines the contents. A part of her wonders out how she can possibly laugh when going through her dead sisters belongings, but mostly she is fascinated by the Narnian 'Lions' and 'Trees' in her palms lying amongst the assorted buttons and chips of dishes in her hand.
"Aslan," She sighs the name, and then starts. When had she stopped talking to Lucy, and started talking to Aslan? She can't remember, but knows that it's Aslan she really means to be talking to. Sliding the coins and buttons back into the purse, she sets it aside and reaches in again. A journal. Pulling it out, she see's that it isn't a Narnian memory this time, but Lucy's journal of this world.
Susan hesitates before opening the journal, unlike the other things, this feels like an invasion of privacy. Shaking her head, she bends over the pages. Filled mostly with Lucy's thoughts, dreams, hopes, records of events. She can't help but shed a tear whenever reminded of Lucy's dreams to be an artist, that would never come true, but other dreams had. She read page after page before flipping to the last entry. Here was the date she wanted, the last entry was in the middle of the book. Not finished because of lack of paper, as a journal should be, but ended because of a train crash.
Shuddering, she scans the entry, ignoring details of the day, until she finds the part she wants. The most painful part to read.
"We're leaving soon, we being Peter, Ed and I. Susan won't come. We begged her though, begged her to come meet with Aunt Polly, Professor, Eustace and Jill. But of course she doesn't believe. I don't think she ever will again. Peter and Ed both think she will come out of it eventually, 'Once a King of Queen of Narnia always a King or Queen,' As if I don't remember what Aslan said as if it were yesterday. When we were all kings and queens in our castle at Cair. Things were so much better then. If only Sue still believed, we could gossip like we did before we returned home from helping Caspian. But she doesn't and she never will. Well, no, that's not true. I don't think I believe that. Maybe one day she will, I see it in her eyes sometimes, that a tiny part of her might still believe." Susan closes the journal with a soft smack.
Here were the tears again, fresh. "I do Lucy, oh I do believe now, but it's far too late." She remembered the fight she had with them, the worst they had ever had.
"Sue! We're nearly ready to leave, are you sure you won't come." Edmund popped his head around the door to her room, to find her packing her bags. "Sue! So you are coming with us then?"
"I most certainly am not," she snapped without looking at him.
"Then where…" Edmund began, but she cut him off.
"I am going to find my own place to live. Peter did when he went off to college, so I will too. I can't stand to be here and listen to you all babble night and day!"
"But Sue…" Ed looked as if she had struck him, "C'mon Sue, don't be that way. Come visit us, we don't care if you believe in Narnia or not."
A car horn honked just then, and Peter clattered through the door. "C'mon you lot, or we're going to be late!" He called up the stairs, coming up to find them, taking the steps two at a time.
"Sue, are you coming?" He was surprised, reacting just as Ed had upon seeing her bags.
"I am not. I will not take part in your childish games." She shouldn't have been angry, but she was. She grabbed her bag, and flew down the stairs, her skirt billowing behind her.
"Susan," Lucy's voice was small, she jumped up from her seat by the door, "Don't leave Susan."
"I'll phone if I can find the time." Her cold voice fought off the memories threatening to rise to the surface. Narnia wasn't real, it couldn't be. One such as Aslan would never refuse to let her to return if it was real, and no one could take something she loved to dearly away from her, no one could be that cruel. None of it was real.
"Sue!" There were tears in Lucy's voice.
The last thing she heard before she slammed the door was footsteps coming down the stairs, Lucy's sobs, and Peter comforting her "It'll be all right Lu, she'll come around."
"I was so cruel. So cruel, I hurt them all, and only to protect myself." Numb, run out of tears, Susan rises to her feet. Moving to the door, she gazes down the steps. These steps, this room. The memory was so vivid that she waited for a moment for Peter to dash up the stairs again and scold her for making Lucy cry, again. How often had her comments driven Lucy to tears? Susan wasn't sure. But it was just a memory, and Peter would never scold her, or hug her, or tease her again. Not ever. Turning away she knelt back to the chest. There it was, the last item. With sharp breath, she pulled it out. Smooth, so delicately carved. Her horn. She had been sure the chest was empty with the journal, but she must not have seen the horn there in the very bottom. Pressing her lips together, she hesitated.
"And when you put this horn to your lips and blow it, wherever you are, I think some kind of help will find you." The memory of Father Christmas's voice fills her ears.
Wherever you are, surely help wouldn't come here too?
"Some believed that it has the power to call the Kings and Queen's of old out of the deep past…" Wasn't that what Doctor Cornelius has said to Caspian, so long ago? And it had, hadn't it? It had brought them. Why shouldn't it do the same for her? She lifted the horn to her lips, so familiar, so right, and blew. The sweet sound was so familiar, so rich, that it hung in the air. She waited for how long she couldn't tell, it seemed like hours, but nothing happened. Dropping her head, the horn rolled out of her hand and across the floor.
"I am so sorry. So sorry. I should have told you that I believed. All this time I believed, but I was so hurt. And now it's too late." She had been wrong thinking she was out of tears, they came again now.
"It isn't too late Dear One. Never too late."
Jerking her head up, Susan jumps to her feet. There he is, beside her, golden, and just as she remembered him, perhaps a bit bigger. Her heart filled to bursting with an odd mix of sorrow and joy, and she drops to her knee's before him.
"Aslan, I am so very sorry. I should have believed, but I was so hurt!"
"Why my dear? Why did you hurt so?"
"Narnia! I loved Narnia, and the people in it, everyone. Times were so happy there, I wanted to live out my life as a queen."
"I never did it to hurt you Dear One, and you know that."
And she did, in her heart, she knew that Aslan never wanted to hurt her, that leaving Narnia shouldn't have hurt her; she should have been noble about it, as Peter had been.
"Do not be guilty Dear One, but know that I did not mean to hurt you, and take courage."
"Won't I ever see them again?"
"Everyone returns to me, in time. But do not be guilty Queen Susan, be happy, I know it is hard."
Susan buries her fingers in his mane, and knows that even after he leaves, she won't be alone.