AN: This is my first fanfiction, which would explain why I didn't say anything in the first chapter (Thank you to those who read that, and even more so to those who reviewed). I had already written this story, and finished it, without publishing it. Then my hard drive crashed, and I lost everything of this story but the first chapter as well as the majority of my own novel I've been working on for the past year. So bear with this chapter- it's the part I remember the least from my original copy. The next and last chapter should be easier for me to remember. I'm sorry it's taken so long to update as well- it was my first week of a new semester at college. Between getting back to school and starting classes, I hadn't gotten the chance to rewrite until last night and today.
It would probably be prudent to mention that Narnia does not belong to me. That said- here's chapter 2.
She knew that it wasn't a church she was seeking, but because that was the last place she saw them- in a house of God, all five of them, in five wooden caskets, that was where she headed. But not to that church- the one she had last seen them in, nor to the one Mary-Anna had brought her once. No, she passed six churches on her long run before she found the one she wanted, although she hadn't know she wanted it.
It was nestled between a bank and a museum, and it wasn't obvious in and of itself, but rather because the entrances to both the bank and the museum were flanked by lion statues. Susan knew, with the absolute surety of one who has been touched by an immortal diety, that this was where she was meant to be, this was where she'd find the answers she was seeking.
Susan stopped dead in the vestibule of the church, nearly colliding with the back of an old woman with a cane. She recognized the church as a Catholic one, and though she wasn't Catholic, she watched the older woman carefully and mimicked her actions, until she was kneeling in a pew before the alter, looking up at the man hanging from the cross. She remembered with a sudden vividness the feel of Narnian air with the scent of fire, cruel and vicious fires from torches, the foul smell of the beasts that had stood behind and beside the White Witch, Jadis, as she raised the bloody knife above the shorn and tied Lion. And clarity burst upon her, followed closely by the feel of the Lion's breath upon her.
"You've been here all along!" she murmured. And she spun to face him.
He smiled at her. "We meet again, young queen."
"Older and wiser now than I was when last we met," Susan quipped, her delight at seeing Aslan once more diminished quickly by the memory of what had actually passed since they'd last met. "And younger and less wise than I have been in times past."
Aslan smiled gently. "You will learn wisdom again, and you have time to grow up here."
"You said that to Peter, when you told us we wouldn't be coming back. I remember- you told him that. But he didn't grow up, he died. So you lied."
A part of her was hoping he'd do something drastic, like pick her up and shake her. Not because she doubted, like Trumpkin had once a long time ago, but because it would make him completely real. Well, maybe because she still had doubts.
Aslan seemed to understand that, because he walked up to her and put his head on her shoulder, so that she could wrap her arms around his neck, like she used to do. "Peter did his growing up in the time between when we last talked and the accident. Be at peace with his fate, child. You know that that is his story, when you should be more concerned with yours." At the word yours, Susan felt a chill go up and down her spine. Aslan's voice had turned stern.
"I was afraid and angry that I couldn't go back. It was easier, to pretend it had never happened. And then, once I was pretending that, it began to feel as though it didn't exist. As though I'd never been there, as though I'd never been Queen of- of N-Narnia." The feeling that had overcome her when she was on the archery field came over her again when she said the name of her true country, "Oh Aslan, how could I have forgotten!" she groaned, feeling the strength come over her. "I submit myself to your mercies," she murmured, dropping to her knees in front of the Lion. "I feel ashamed, knowing how easily I turned from you, and the memory of Narnia!"
Aslan shook his great head at her. "It will never be easy for you to remember Narnia. It was only ever easy for the others because they had each other to help them remember. Your adventures there were harder for you because you did belong in Narnia, but you also belonged in England, in your world. If you want it to be easier, remember me, remember Narnia- and pass it on."
"People will think I'm crazy!" Susan gasped in dismay. The Lion smiled down on her.
"Then tell stories to your children. And tell that young man over there why he isn't crazy." Susan turned to look to the door, where Dylan had been standing for the last five minutes, completely frozen with his mouth wide open in shock. "You've found me here now. You know now. I know what you want in your heart, but you can't go back to Narnia now. It no longer exists. Nor can you join your siblings. You have a life. Don't turn your back on Narnia again, or you will never come back to me. But once a Queen of Narnia, always a Queen, even though you let yourself stray this past time. So rise, Queen Susan, and go on to live!" Aslan's face smiled upon Susan as he faded away.
"What the Hell was that?" Dylan swore, striding into the church. The woman who had been there before was gone, so Dylan wasn't following anyone's actions as he went through the appropriate motions, and belatedly crossed himself for swearing. When he got to Susan's side, he was pale but anxious. "Pevensie, there was a Lion talking to you."
"Not a lion, The Lion," Susan responed. "And it's Susan, Dylan. Susan Pevensie. You may as well know that, because you won't believe the story I'm about to tell you. You'll want to know the proper name of the girl you're about to send to the mad house."
"There was a lion in this church. Since I saw it, I'm about as mad as you are. So are you going to tell me this story or not?"
Susan's eyes, as well as her thoughts, were on the wooden cross, and the man whose effigy looked down upon her, with the eyes of the Lion who loved her.
"I was there when the Son was sacrificed," she murmured. "Bound to a table, with his mane cut, and then she took her knife and- she killed him. But Lucy and I couldn't look. And then we stayed with him, and when we were about to leave, he came back. He rose again." She turned to Dylan. "And after he came back, he took us to our brothers and we helped them win the fight against the Witch and bring Edmund back to life, and we became Kings and Queens! Oh, the stories go on and on, and you wouldn't believe half of them if I told you. You probably think I'm crazy as it is- the sacrifice of the Son and all."
Dylan just looked on at her. He could smell strange smells in the air, smells of summers and summer air that wasn't English air. And the musky smell of the Lion still hung around Susan, with a smell of flowers much like a scent that would have accompanied Susan's richest gowns, which had been washed and treated with scented water, back when she was a Queen. Susan herself was changed, as she looked back at him. Her eyes glowed with happiness, despite her words. Her stories, and the Lion, had brought her back to life in a way that made her more beautiful than any amount of make-up could.
"I think I should like to hear the rest of these stories," Dylan replied, "from the beginning."
Susan smiled, and began- "It all started with the war, when we were sent from London to the Professor's house- that's where Lucy found the Wardrobe…"