I totally in no way abandoned this story for a year or two... at all. At any rate, it's now back to being edited, and I should be adding to it with (hopefully) fairly frequent new chapters. If any of my old readers are still reading- thanks for sticking with me.
Author's note: First, I'd like to say I love C.S. Lewis' books, but seeing the movie I fell in love with the Caspian-Susan pairing. I'd like to defend it like this: C. S. Lewis. Caspian and Susan. It's meant to be. On that note, this story is based on the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, and somewhat on the movie by Disney. All rights belong with them... in other words, please don't sue.
The four Pevensies are back in England, and in Narnia, almost two years have passed. Peter is 19, Susan is 17, Edmund is 16 and Lucy is 10 (yes, she should actually be 15, but when I started this story she was 10 and so 10 she remains) and they are all in boarding school. Edmund and Lucy have returned to Narnia once or twice since the trip in which Peter and Susan were told they could not, and as such it's been a hard few months. Now, a letter has reached the siblings from their mother, begging them to return to their childhood home one more , and wondering what could have happened, the children board the train home. That is where our story truly begins, on a small train traveling to Finchley.
When Susan first got the letter, the only thing she wanted to do was cry. But it seemed she'd been doing too much of that lately, and besides, it would upset Lucy. And if Lucy was upset, the entire trip would seem more worrisome than was necessary. The letter was from her mother, begging her children to return to their childhood home one last time. Susan's immediate fear was that her mother was dying, and summoning her children with her last words. But the writing on the paper was clean and crisp, her mother's writing as it had not been for many years. This worried Susan more than the content of the letter. Lucy was too young to worry about such things, but Edmund had noticed her concern. Peter had doubtless noticed the same thing, but was better at concealing his emotions. Boarding the train to take them to their house, Susan felt a brief flash of déjà vu. It was just like when she had boarded a train not seven months ago to learn of her father's death. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Peter noticed and raised his eyebrows at her. There was no other sign of his outward emotions.
It is surprising, however, how quickly emotion becomes noticeable in a small stuffy rail car. Even Lucy, an incurable optimist, subsided into sulkiness after an hour of games like "I Spy" which only would Edmund play with her. Edmund seemed determined to ignore all of his siblings' behavior and at a station went to buy Lucy a candy, which improved her mood. Susan smiled briefly as they left. Edmund was quite the diplomat. The only problem with this arrangement was that it left Peter and Susan in the carriage together. Lately, this was a sure-fire way to create a problem.
To Susan's credit, Peter started it. "You think that something has gone wrong, don't you?"
Susan rolled her eyes. "No, Peter," she said sweetly, "Mother's just calling us in perfect handwriting (which she hasn't had since Father died) in a panic calling all of us home in the middle of the war to ask what color to paint the kitchen."
"Oh, calm down, Sue," Peter said. "Don't get so upset. It's just a simple question."
"You're one to talk about being upset easily." The retort came easily off Susan's lips, a reference to the not-so distant past in which Peter had been in the habit of fighting anyone over anything. From Peter's scowl, he knew exactly what she referred to.
"That's over and done with, and has been for a long while."
"Not really that long," Susan said spitefully. "Ten months or so?"
"You're missing the point," Peter said, changing the subject with an abruptness that let Susan know that he considered the subject of his fighting days closed. "You're letting your emotions, and the fact you think something's wrong, affect everyone else. You might be a little more considerate of the rest of us. Heaven knows that Ed and I knew that everything might be wrong when we got the letter, but Lucy doesn't. So long as we act positive, there's no need for her to worry."
He's probably right, the sensible part of Susan thought. But the part of her that was spiteful of his superior attitude answered. "You're very confident that keeping Lucy completely oblivious is a good thing, aren't you? Are you sure you just don't want to consider that anything might have happened to Mother in your absence? Or do you just not care if something has?"
"Oh, don't be utterly ridiculous!" cried Peter, his temper short and worn with arguing. "This isn't about some superiority, she's our mother, and Lucy's our sister! I just want them to be all right." He paused for a moment, and got his temper in check. Then, he continued in a more normal voice. "I know what worries you have. I have the same ones, but the difference is I don't let them rule how I appear. You do, and Susan, you might just work a little harder at making them invisible. Lucy's getting worried."
Susan got to her feet angrily. "As if you care-"
Peter jumped to his feet also, an angry glint in his eye, cutting her off. "Of course I care, stupid," he hissed. There was something close to anger in his eyes. "What do you think I've been trying to tell you? Of course I care. She's my mother as well, you know. I care so much it feels like I'm bleeding to death, but I need to put on a good face. We don't know what's happened yet, we must remain all appearances for Lucy and Edmund. Who, speaking of which, are on their way over here."
Susan knew he was right. Lucy shouldn't be worried about their arguments. Still, she couldn't stop herself from making one last hit. "You're not the one bleeding to death," she murmured, loud enough for Peter to hear each word. "That would be Father." She couldn't see his expression, but she could imagine it. Father had been close to Peter. He'd taken his death even harder than Susan had. Still, she turned to Lucy, putting a smile on her face and in her voice. "Hi, Lu! What sort of candy did you bully Edmund into buying you?" Lucy, ecstatic at having a new person to talk to, launched into a detailed description of the candy, the guards and the people they saw. While she prattled on, Susan sat, staring out the window and wondering what her father would think if he'd seen the scene that had just taken place.
The first thing Edmund had noticed when he entered the carriage was Susan's overly bright attitude. That in itself would have been suspicious after her surliness this morning. But the next thing he noticed was Peter's expression, and it confirmed his suspicion that the two had been fighting. Had Peter looked different, he might have been exasperated. He put a good deal of effort into keeping the peace between his older brother and sister these days. But Peter's expression was horribly stretched, a smile that looked sickly. In Edmund's eyes, pain radiated from every inch of his frozen features. His movements were jerky as he helped Lucy and Edmund into carriage, a smile on his face and deadness in his eyes. This fight, whatever it was, had obviously involved some hit of Susan's that was completely out of line. Susan was normally nice, kind, a loving sister. But push her the right (or wrong) way, and she could be cruel beyond belief. Lately, it seemed like any word or action could set her off.
So it was with more compassion than normal that Edmund slid across the bench to where Peter sat, as far away as possible from Susan. In a small carriage, this wasn't far, but Edmund noted the gesture.
"You want to talk about it?" Edmund asked quietly. In the past few months, he'd become a master at talking out of the side of his mouth. Peter was better- you never even saw is lips move.
"No."
"What was it this time? The letter?" Edmund's guesses were normally good.
Peter knew it was useless to resist. Edmund was going to make him talk about it, regardless of Peter's feelings or he might pin him down and make Peter give up the information. In fact, Edmund had done this twice. It might be somewhat harder in a full carriage, but he had not doubt Edmund would try. "We talked about it. She thinks there's something wrong. So do I. I told her to put up a brave face."
Edmund knew when just a single word would do. "And?"
Peter sighed and surrendered the details. "She accused me of not caring because I didn't show any emotions. I suppose I got a bit upset. I told her I felt like I was bleeding to death inside."
Edmund could see where this was going, and he didn't like it. She'd better not have, he thought. He waited for Peter to finish, knowing no prompt was necessary.
"She told me I wasn't the one bleeding to death, that that had been Dad." Peter's voice was harsh on the last word, as though saying it through gritted teeth made him more of a man. Edmund wished (briefly, but reverently) that he had the time and space to force Peter to be a bit less foolish about speaking of his father's death, or barring that, a heavy object to hit him with.
Also, an object to throw at Susan, given the look on Peter's face. Edmund's hand clenched into a fist. It was obvious Susan had been provoked, but that... that was just one line you didn't cross. Every one of the Pevansies had been devastated by the death of their father, but no one more than Peter. It was not only the loss of his beloved father, which would of course hit Peter the hardest as he was the firstborn. It was that Peter, in another life, had been a commander, a soldier. He had lead men and Narnians into battle side by side and had lost no few of them himself. He had seen useless sacrifice of men and had wept. He understood military strategy, the pain of a failed plan resulting in the death of many soldiers. And he had watched the strategy in which his father's unit had been placed and understood that his father was dead because of bad planning and poor leadership. This knowledge weighed heavily upon Peter.
All this Edmund assessed in an instant. He pushed Peter lightly. "Feel better for talking about it?"
"No," Peter said, but anyone could see it helped him to talk.
"Well, if you feel that way," Edmund said slyly, "I'll just beat it out of you next time. I could even start now if you'd like."
"You just try that," said Peter, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.
Edmund nodded, as if considering something, then with a flying tackle knocked Peter from his seat into where Susan and Lucy were playing "school".
"Teacher!" Lucy laughed, pointing at Susan. "Teacher, look at what they're doing!"
"Sit down, both young students," said Susan, who had pulled her hair up and looked like she was sucking a lemon, an effect spoiled by the fact she was laughing. Edmund looked up with a brief grin. Even while imitating someone, she was laughing and looking more like the Susan he remembered.
"Yes, ma'am." nodded Peter vigorously.
"What did you say your name was again?" asked Edmund.
"It's Miss Lemonie." whispered Lucy, as if in class. "You remember that governess we had when we were little?"
"When you were little," Peter contradicted. "I was always big."
"Be not talking, class!" said 'Miss Lemonie'. "That is not for educational purposes!" Lucy giggled and Edmund laughed, with even Peter managing a laugh. Miss Lemonie had been very concerned with things being for educational purposes. She had also spoken with a certain alarming brusqueness which Susan got almost exactly right.
"Now, we will study- Are those candies?" Susan asked.
"Yes, ma'am." giggled Lucy, her mouth full.
"I will be taking them now," laughed Susan, grabbing the bag and gulping down one. "For -um- educational purposes!"
"No, you don't" cried Lucy, jumping at her and before long the game of school had turned into grab the candies and keep-away, and the children looked for the entire world like normal children playing. Edmund stopped to display the scene of his handiwork, and allowed himself a brief grin. Before long, though, that grin was spoiled by being hit with the sac of candies, and Edmund devoted himself to the game.
It's amazing how fast tension can re-appear, Susan thought as she adjusted her hat. In the taxi, even walking on the streets up to her old house everything had seemed fine. But now, approaching the drive, Susan felt the fear she thought was gone surrounding her, choking her. There were so many memories here, so many old ghosts of a past life. This was the place she had last seen her father alive, and where she had learned of his death. She didn't know if she could handle another tragedy here.
"Easy, Sue." Peter whispered his arm suddenly on hers. "Keep it together. The house won't hurt us."
Despite all the hurtful things she'd said to him in the carriage, Susan was glad that Peter was her brother, and no more so than now. He understood how she was feeling and was trying to make it better however he could. Just like when he was High King, she thought. But she quickly squashed the thought. Peter was king no more; she was queen no more... they were just siblings in a war. It seemed to Susan they had always been in war, in Narnia or in England.
Walking up the little road to the house, the door opened unexpectedly. Susan's mother stood there, not ill or even hurt. She looked positively rosy in comparison with the last time Susan had seen her. But then, that had been at the death of Father, so perhaps it wasn't a fair comparison. She couldn't understand the difference, however, until a man stepped out from behind the door. Susan's mother looked up at him with such love, such devotion that Susan instantly understood why they had been called here. There was no illness here, but something was about to happen which would also make her lose her mother.
Peter saw it, too. His hand twitched at his waist, a tiny gesture to anyone but one of the Penvansies. For Susan, who knew that was where his sword had been kept while he was in Narnia, it was a glaringly obvious reaction. His hand twitching to it showed his automatic reaction was that of a threat to him or his family. And Susan supposed it was a threat.
She sidled up to him. "You know, I miss my bow, too." she whispered. "But I at least try not to be so obvious about it."
He glanced down, as if noticing for the first time that his hand was tensed to grab his sword. He grimaced, and with an obvious effort relaxed it. "We can't know it's anything," he whispered. "He might be an insurance salesperson, a house guest, an unwanted suitor..."
"He's no insurance salesman; he's far from unwanted and from the look on her face if he's a house guest it's going to be permanently. That's the expression of a woman in love." The words tore Susan's heart, but she could not lie about what was so obvious to anyone with eyes.
He glanced up, pained at her words, horrified to see his father so soon replaced. "How would you know so much about a woman in love?"
His words felt like burning arrows on her body. Searing, horrible pain seemed to crush every particle of her body, making her shake with the horror of what he had said. It was not his intent to make her bleed, but he could not have chosen crueler words. "Because," she said, gritting her teeth, "I've been one of them."
It was obvious he knew what she was talking about. "He's gone, Susan. He's gone, and we can't go back. Though," he mused, "if we did go back I could have my sword with me now... and I could deal with this intruder in a timely fashion."
Feeling Edmund's eyes on her, Susan tried to smile. "A murder might put a bit of a damper on the housewarming."
"That it might," he agreed, visibly glad his words hadn't caused too much damage. "Come on, let's go greet Mother and find out what's going on."
Walking in the door, Susan greeted her mother detachedly. She already knew that no matter what her mother said, she was going to lose her. It tore at her heart just a little more. As her mother showed them into the newly renovated sitting room, Susan smiled blandly, sat back, and tried to close the gaping hole in her heart.