Susan lay propped against huge ivory-colored pillows in her large royal guest bedroom with a magnificent view of the Archen countryside. But this night, she was not peering out her window, as she usually loved to do—she was to stiff and weary from riding all afternoon and her heart was heavy with worries.

Anvard was one of her favorite places outside of Narnia. King Lune and his queen, Alina, were always wonderful hosts, and even better friends. Susan honestly didn't know where the tetrarch would be without them. The Archen royals had taken their young Narnian counterparts under their wing and showed them how to run a castle, how to settle disputes, and the ins and outs of foreign negotiations. They had provided them with horses to ride and sent several ships, with crews, to help rebuild the Narnian Navy. They had lent them supportive and understanding ears when things went badly and celebrated with them in success. They had even gone to bat for them a few times, even when not doing so might have perhaps benefited them. And, of course, who could forget their sweet little cherub-faced twins, who were just about eight months old.

Susan had come to here for trade meetings—forever there seemed to be trade meetings—and these were attended by representatives from every land in the known world. In the five months that she and her siblings had ruled Narnia, this would be her first trip abroad by herself, but it wasn't supposed to have worked out that way.

Peter and Lucy had sailed, a few weeks prior, to the Lone Islands to call on the governor, as Peter had worried that they had not shown much attention to their islands. Edmund had intended to travel with Susan, but a few days before their departure, he had had to ride out, with a small force, into their western lands, to put a stop to marauders that were antagonizing the population. And so, for the past two weeks, Susan had handled the meetings on her own. It had been only yesterday that she had ridden home to take care of a few domestic issues before returning late in the evening.

Now, lying propped up under buttermilk-colored silk sheets, she should be drifting off to sleep, but her mind wouldn't allow it. At the beginning of the week Alina had fallen ill.

Her symptoms had waxed and waned throughout the week, and yesterday, she had felt well enough to beg Lune to be allowed outside. He had gentle denied the request for fear she wasn't strong enough. Susan had been reluctant to ride home—she wanted to stay near this woman who had taught both she and Lucy so much about being queen, but Alina had only laughed and told her to carry on about the business that needed attending too. By the time Susan had returned, it was late and Alina was sleeping, but she'd been told that things were still well. Still, she worried for her friend.

Finally, frustrated with simply lying helpless in bed and knowing how much she need to sleep in order to face tomorrow, Susan got out of bed and walked toward the window. A small pile of her things lay on a table that shone in the moonlight and her raven-colored hair sparkled like diamonds as she picked up Swanwhite's diary. It was not the same one she'd found in that dusty room, all those months ago—this one was bound up in cherry-red cloth with the stencil of a maple leaf on it. Then she walked softly back to bed and lit a candle. She knew reading could soothe her heart, or at least she wanted it to.

She read.

Oh, what a hard day I've had! What a terrible day! My dear nurse has left us to go to Aslan's Country. I don't quite know how I'll go on without her. Yes, of course, my mum and dad are here for me and they are wonderful—but my dear nurse, she's the one I saw most often. She's the one who gave me my first lessons; you know—the very first lessons that you can never really forget.

I'm glad, of course, that my dear nurse is with Aslan and that He has made her perfectly well again—it was so hard to see her struggle for breath these last few months, and I daresay, I prayed that Aslan would relieve her suffering, but I had always assumed that He would do it by making her well again, not by taking her to be with Him.

Now what will I do? My mum and dad tell me that I must grieve for a bit and then get back to the business that fills my days. They say that it's right to be sad for a time, but that I shouldn't let her death defeat me—for certainly death has not defeated my dear nurse. And, of course, He knows best. Although, I admit, sometimes, I question Him.

I asked them how I might be able to get on without her and they said that I can keep her alive in my memory by holding onto and doing the things that she taught me. They said that if I love her then I won't forget what she taught me, even though she's gone.

Susan quietly closed the book in her hands, laid it on the night stand next to her bed, and blew the candle out.

That was not a particularly great page to read tonight, she thought, and brushed some tears away.

Then she scrunched down under the covers, bear-hugged her pillow and, finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

Many hours later and well past midnight, Susan's troubled sleep was disturbed by a tiny knock near the bottom of her door.

"Who is it?" she asked Onca, as she hurried to throw on her robe.

"One of the young ones," the jaguar replied mildly, without rising from the rug in the middle of the room, "I can't tell which one—they smell so much alike, and I don't see them every day."

"Well they're twins, after all," Susan replied while tying her sash as she bolted to open the door.

Once she had it opened, she found herself staring down into big luminous blue eyes—the color of the deepest part of the ocean—a shaggy head of bright curls, and two cubby arms that stretched as high as Prince Cor could reach in his hope that she would pick him up.

Of course, she obliged.

"Why Cor, whatever are you doing out of your crib at this late hour—and so far from your nursery?" she asked and marveled that a boy who was only crawling could have slipped under the radar of his nurses.

There was a sudden bustle down the hall as two nursery maids flew through the door and gave a few squeals of relief to see that their little warder was safe.

"Thank you, ever so much, your majesty," the two young maids gushed, once Cor was back in their arms, "We can't lose this one, now can we? Our little saver someday."

Susan smiled lightly, "I don't believe we could lose either of them," she mused.

"Yes, you're right about that, your majesty."

"And his mother," Susan gently tested the waters of her soul to ask that question, but she knew she couldn't rest until she knew, "How does her majesty fare?"

"Ah, not well, I'm afraid, your majesty—she took a turn for the worse, just a bit ago." The maid's lower lip quivered as she explained, "His majesty is with her just now."

"Would you like us to see if his majesty might let you see her, your majesty?" The other maid asked.

"Yes," Susan replied quietly, all the air having gone out of her, leaving nothing left to speak with, "I would indeed—if I'm allowed."

She felt tears bubbling into her eyes as the maids scurried away with Cor and she followed behind.

King Lune readily agreed to allow Susan some time alone with Alina, and as the eldest Narnian queen slipped quietly through the door, she was taken aback by how much her friend's health had deteriorated since early yesterday, when she had last seen her.

Alina's normally angelic face was red and damp from her struggle to breathe, her normally soft golden locks were a stringy disheveled mess, and when she spoke her normally clear laughing voice was a hoarse shadow of itself. Her normally bright happy face was so drawn that it looked almost like a skeleton and Susan suspected that her body, hidden by thick quilts, looked much the same way. Only her eyes still clung to their happy glimmer. Susan had the wild thought that perhaps if she took away the covers her friend might find it easier to breathe.

Alina beckoned, with a frail hand, for her to come to the bedside and she spoke gently to the teary teenaged queen.

"My dear—my dear, don't cry. I have no doubt that I'll be just fine before the end of the night."

"You can't possibly recover before the night is past," Susan sniffed back tears, as she clung to Alina's hand, now only just warm enough for Susan to find life in it.

"No, no, my dear—don't you feel His presence here with us? Not to take me with Him just yet, although I'm certain it will be soon—no, He has come to comfort me during these last hours or minutes—only He knows how long. No, Susan, don't cry, my dear…"

"But how will Lucy and I—how will all four of us—get along without your advice –without your friendship and love?"

"Oh, you'll get along nicely, I suspect—you all will—come now, my dear, we all must say goodbye to someone we love sometime."

Susan bit her lip and tried to focus on being strong and Alina patted her hand, "That's better, dear."

"Is there something—anything I can do for you once-once…"

Alina patted her hand again and finished the sentence, "Once I've gone to Aslan's Country."

Susan nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Alina continued, "Well if you'd like too—but only if you want…"

"I want."

Susan instinctively moved closer and earnestly waited for her charge.

"Well, I know that you have your own country to look after and many things will arise within your life, but if you find you can manage it—will you be there for the boys? Lune and I talked it over and we want you—all four of you—to continue on as mentors and friends to our sons. Will you watch over them, Susan?"

Susan nodded eagerly, "It would consider it my greatest pleasure."

Alina smiled and something of her silvery laugh came back for just a moment.

"Now, now, you'll have many pleasures ahead of you," she teased.

"None more pleasant than honoring my dear friend by keeping my word to her."

In response, Alina closed her shimmering blue eyes and relaxed for a few minutes. Susan held her hand until she thought that perhaps she was asleep, and then rose to go out. But as she leaned down to kiss her friend farewell, Alina suddenly awoke with a horrible gurgling gasp.

Susan stood transfixed with horror for a moment as she watched her friend's struggle, then she snapped to attention and bolted for help.

"Alina! Her majesty! Get help! Where's King Lune? Where's his majesty?" Her screams grew increasingly urgent and hysterical.

Doors flew open and people began running around and running into each other in their effort to get to where they were going.

Susan shook her head, with urgent dismay, at all the mayhem and hurried to the door and down the hall. She ran with an energy fueled by fear and pain until she found King Lune and told him, with wide red-rimmed eyes and a choking voice, what was happening.

"Alina—she's—"

She didn't have time to say anything further before King Lune brushed past her and tore down the hall. Susan followed, at a run, several steps behind and watched as Lune vanished into Alina's bedroom. Then she sat down, with a heavy heart and numb mind—feeling all the energy she'd had moments before rush out of her—to await the word that she knew was coming.

The next afternoon, Susan sat, shrouded in mourning black, on a small balcony over-looking the wide flat Anvard lawn, and beyond to the numerous sun-drenched hills in the countryside, and still further beyond to the dark evergreen forests that grew in the distance.

Her mind was crammed with the details of the funeral being planned and she desperately wanted to have her siblings close by, but she didn't even know if that would be possible.

"Is there anything I can do for you, your majesty?" Onca purred softly, his green-tinted golden eyes full of sadness and understanding as he laid his strong massive head in her lap. Only his ear flickered once.

"I only wish Peter, Edmund, and Lucy were here" Susan sighed and rambled on, "They would want to be here—they ought to be here—but I don't even know if Peter and Lu are home, and, well, Ed might not be either—although it would be easier to find out about that—but it wouldn't be right to call him away if he's still with the army—but it wouldn't be right to keep this from him—from any of them—and, oh, what am I to do?"

"How might it be if I send someone to Cair to find out?" Onca inquired, "A swift bird, perhaps? They can circle around and if someone is home, they can land and tell the news—and if not, they'd fly right back."

"Well alright," Susan agreed, relived to have the beginnings of a workable plan in her head, "but tell whoever it is to fly a wide route around the castle, just in case Ed is coming back, but not quite in yet—tell whoever to keep a sharp watch out toward the west."

Onca bowed his noble head, "Consider it done, your majesty."

Then he turned and disappeared silently back into the castle and Susan returned to her silent wake.

But not for long.

King Lune suddenly appeared, his face was gray and haggard in his grief and he looked almost frail, instead of his normal jovial self. Susan rose to greet him and smiled when she saw that he had both boys wrapped in his big arms.

The twins, smiling and happy, were quite oblivious toward the tragedy going on around them and continued their game—if you could call it that—Cor would grab a fistful of Corin's blond fluff, and Corin would punch him. Then Cor would shake himself off and go for another fist-full. Lune looked relieved when Susan took the squirming Corin out of his hands and set him on her lap.

"I've sent Onca to find a bird to fly to Cair and find out if my brothers and sister have returned home—they will want to be here and they will come, if it's possible." Susan talked chiefly to make conversation, but she had no earthy clue what should be talked about at a time like this. "I hope to have word back by this evening."

Lune nodded sadly, until Cor decided to pinch his finger and Susan smiled when he gave the youngster a mock scowl.

"Alina asked," Susan wondered if she should talk of this now, "she asked me to look after these little ones."

Lune nodded vigorously, "Yes, yes, we talked about it while you were away yesterday—she knew her time here was short, and she knew that a father, much less a father who is a king, can't be everything his children need in life—that's why little ones have a father and a mother, after all, isn't it? And, well, when one parent has to leave them, someone else is needed to step in and fill the void—we think you—all four of you—are the ones to do just that—perhaps, it's another reason you were brought into this world, don't you think?"

Susan said that she hoped it was, but after a few moments, a question raked across her mind, "Do you think we'll be able to do it?"

"I know you will—all of you together."

"I've not had much experience with young ones—and, "she added quietly, "my teacher has left me."

"Well, on the first bit—you're in good company, because neither have I. These rascals were our first, you know, and well, they're not even a year old yet. And the other part, ah, that's much harder, but she taught us all well, don't you think?"

"Yes," Susan responded quietly.

"Well, then the trick is to remember all that she taught us—if we do the things she taught us, then we'll carry her in our hearts, and perhaps, we can pass on what she taught us to someone else and her legacy will grow."

Susan sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment, to collect her thoughts. She dearly wanted to keep her word to Alina to watch over little Cor and Corin and make sure nothing horrible ever happened to them, and she prayed that she would be able to do just that.

A/N I based this chapter on 2 Tim. 1:5. It might be an odd association, but I hope that you all can see the connection.