Helen Pevensie walked back into her living room to pick up the teacups her children had left sitting on armchairs and the piano. She couldn't help but notice that though all four children had drunk tea, Susan had taken the time to put her teacup away in the sink to be washed. Even when she was surrounded by change, Susan remembered basic manners, unlike, say, Edmund, who had left his teacup on the floor. She reached down to pick it up.

Another hand reached down and picked up the teacup, thereby sparing her from bending over. William St. John held the neat little floral teacup in his hand with a slight smile. Helen smiled. It was sweet and kind, something she had missed for far too long, something she hadn't expected to find in a relationship again. Together, they carried the teacups to the kitchen sink to be washed. Dishwashing was always a time they could talk, and the familiar ritual of wash, dry, put away soothed Helen's nerves a little.

"So what did you think of them?" she asked her betrothed, a bit nervous to hear his response. William wouldn't hide what he thought from her, but she did so want him to approve.

There was a slight pause before he answered. "They are very different from how I thought they would be. Maybe I haven't been around children for a while-" Here he paused to wipe his glasses. "But regardless… they seemed so much older than I expected."

Helen nodded to herself. "They've had to grow up fast…I suppose, really, that it's my fault. First they went away to the country, and when they came back I barely recognized them. Paul was still fighting in the war, and they couldn't live here. Then I started getting reports that Peter was fighting, all the time he was fighting. They called me to his school and I didn't know who he was…He had to identify himself to me. I was always the distant parent to them, Paul really bonded more closely. Then suddenly the reports stopped, everything had changed with them again. Then Paul died…" She paused for a long moment. "They've had to grow up so fast," she repeated. "I've not been half the parent I meant to be, not to any of them. I don't even know them any more. I thought Lucy would be happy to go to America. Two years ago, she would have been. But everything's changed. And again, all I can do is stand here and wave good-bye."

William took her hand. "What else can any of us do?" he asked quietly. "It's the doom of being a parent- that you can teach and guide, but in the end you must simply wave goodbye and pray with all your heart that they'll do the right thing."

There was a long pause before Helen spoke again. "When Paul died, I stopped being a parent, William. I couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't even pretend it was alright. And they just had to deal with it by themselves, on their own. Did I teach them right? What did they learn from that?"

"Grief is not a sin, Helen. And sorrow is not something to be ashamed of. That's what they learned." He looked into her eyes. "You may not think it, but you've taught them well. They'll be all right."

She looked away, down into the grey soapy water. "I know they will."

It was a distinctly nasty day. Grey clouds and rain outside, and final exams to study for inside. Susan decided she would stop looking out the window. It was starting to depress her. She instead looked at the table, on which several heavy volumes of literature, a leather journal and several pens were sitting. Right. What was on the table was also depressing. It was a lose-lose situation. Susan was sitting on the bed in her small dormitory, trying to avoid studying a particularly musky volume of William Wordsworth's poetry. She had been copying the poems in a futile attempt to help her memorize them. She lay back and started to recite "Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain".

As she reached the fifth verse, Lucy opened the door to the room. She bounced into the cramped chamber. Bounced is not the right word. She danced into the room. Dancing was Lucy's latest passion, and she was surprisingly good at it. Now, she no longer walked anywhere but danced. Whenever Ed commented on how good she was, she had pointed out that she'd had fifteen years experience in Narnia. Ed claimed that didn't count, because it hadn't been ballet. Lucy and him had argued to the point where Lucy had challenged him to a dancing competition, her and Peter vs. him and Susan. That had been last weekend, one of the most enjoyable and silly afternoons Susan had ever spent. Lucy had won, of course. She still had a glow from beating Edmund, who didn't like to lose, especially to Lucy.

"Edmund and Peter are coming to visit in a little while," Lucy announced. Susan looked up from her book with a grin.

"That would explain why they sent a note this morning, saying they were coming, Lu."

"Well, how was I supposed to know they sent out a note to you as well?" asked Lucy, somewhat miffed at having her surprise spoiled. "But I've got an idea…"

"What's that?" Susan asked absent-mindedly. Lucy always had an idea.

"I think you and me should have a talk."

"A what?" That was certainly different from what Lucy normal said. Her ideas were normally tricks and surprises, and frankly Susan preferred those a lot more. Lucy's idea of a talk in Narnia could touch on such varied topics as the proper disposal of magical weapons during a thunderstorm to the eating habits of hedgehogs (as opposed to Hedgehogs, who, as all know, are far more noble creatures) in under fifteen minutes.

"A talk. About him."

Susan's palms were suddenly sweaty. "You don't talk, Lu, you babble. Like a brook, incessantly. I've often noticed the difference".

'And you, Susan, use specific flaws in word choice to obfuscate your own reluctance to start a conversation. Don't think I don't notice that. Talk". Lucy had a determined glint in her eye that boded ill for Susan's chances of escaping the conversation.

She decided instead to delay. "Obfuscate isn't even a word". It was.

"Yes it is!" Lucy was rather indignant; she had learned the word just last week to impress a teacher. Susan, however, smiled at her minor victory.

"Not even a word, I bet it's not even in the dictionary…" Her voice trailed off as it became obvious Lucy had noticed the ploy. "Why don't you check?" she suggested weakly.

Lucy instead pointed the dictionary at her in a threatening manner. "Su. Talk, now."

There was no point in pretending she didn't know exactly who Lucy was talking about, and also the dictionary had a certain malignant air to it. "There's nothing to talk about, Lucy. He was very nice."

"Are you sure that's all that he was?" Lucy's grin had a wicked tint which told Susan that this talk could be very uncomfortable very fast, and she had been quite right to try and avoid it.

"He was nice, he didn't argue with the Dear Little Friend, he was a good commander, a good king, he cared about all of his people… and he had very nice lips." Susan grinned at her sister, fully expecting her to jump back squealing about how icky that was. Instead, Lucy only wagged her finger at her.

"You can't avoid me that easily! You forget that I was once your age, older too, and that it doesn't bother me when guys have nice lips." Susan could have slapped herself. How had she forgotten that? "No, the fact that you're joking about it only shows that you want to make light of a serious situation… which means it was serious, which means love!" Lucy made the whole thing sound ridiculously simple, probably by leaving out a few steps in her process of reasoning. Of course, it might also be insanity on Lucy's part. She reflected on that for a moment.

Lucy gave her a cheeky grin. "Am I right?"

"I think you've been spending too much time with Edmund. You're picking up his over-analysis." Susan's tart reply rang hollow. And when had Lucy gotten so smart?

"Come on, Susan, won't you tell me?"

"No." It wasn't something she needed to know.

"Please, Susan? Please please please please please pl-" Susan threw a pillow at her. Before Lucy could answer, she did.

"Only if you promise to be quiet and never tell anyone, especially Peter or Edmund."

Lucy smirked. "Of course I do."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me," Susan murmured. "Well listen up, then."

"There's not really much I can tell you," she started. "It was nothing at first, just a feeling, a crush I guess you could call it. He was fairly attractive-" Lucy broke off into a snort. Susan stuck out her tongue and continued. "All right, he was very attractive. Happy?" Lucy nodded. "Now let me finish. He stood up to Peter- not many people can state their opinion when faced with the High King of Narnia and say that they disagree with him. Well, I can, but that's different. I always thought that after the war, maybe, we could spend some time together. Hard to talk with someone in the middle of a battle. So we met a few times after that, we talked… I thought we should take it slow. Then Aslan told us we were leaving, but I didn't really process it until the tree was there and we were about to leave. And he was standing there, just so surprised at us leaving, at me for not telling him. I thought that if I was never going to see him again, I wanted to remember him. So I kissed him. If I knew what it would be like for me now, I never would have done it."

"What is it like for you now?" Lucy asked, surprised that her sister would say something like that.

"It's not how I thought it would be, Lu." Susan gave her her sad smile. "Kissing him, I thought it would be nice. I thought it would help me remember him. If I'm to be honest, I wanted to kiss him. But all it did was make me realize how much I would miss him, how much I wanted to stay. He asked me to stay, you know."

"He what?" That was news to Lucy.

"He asked me to stay with him," Susan repeated. "After the kiss… He asked me if I would stay with him." She laughed a short, bitter laugh. "I guess you know what I said. Now all I can do is wonder if I did the right thing."

Lucy was quiet for a moment. "But why? Don't you love him?"

"Oh, Lucy," Susan said. "One day, maybe. I never really got the chance to find out. You can't discover if you love someone after a single kiss, it's just not enough time. He knew that. He asked me to stay to discover if what we had would be love, if we let it. And I… I couldn't do that. Maybe, in another time, another place, what we had would have been enough. But it wasn't worth it. I would have had to leave you, Peter, Edmund, Mum, Dad, everybody and never see them again. And what if it hadn't worked out? There would be no way back. I'd have to live forever wondering what had happened to you. I never would have even been able to say yes, since it was Aslan's decision. But I wanted to say yes so badly, Lu. Despite all of it, I wanted to say yes. But it wasn't enough. It never would have been."

Lucy sat by her sister. For once, she didn't say anything. In that moment, Lucy could see why Susan made her decision and why she regretted it. The knowledge was saddening, and to be honest, Lucy had been surprised by the depths to which Susan had tried to justify her decision. "Far be it from me to give my older sister advice…" she started.

"But you will anyway?" Susan said, rolling her eyes.

"But I will anyway," Lucy conceded. "I think that you put yourself in an impossible situation. You would be unhappy if you stayed, and unhappy if you left. And I personally think it was very mean of Caspian to ask you to make a decision that would leave you unhappy any way," she finished, in a tone of voice that clearly said 'so there'.

"He didn't mean to, I'm sure…" Susan said in a tone which clearly stated she didn't want to climb out of her depressed mood.

"You made your choice, Susan. Don't regret it. Please, Susan… everyone just wants you to be happy." Susan opened her mouth to say something, anything to comfort Lucy. She sounded so sad. "No, just listen. No matter what decision you made, you would end up second guessing it. It's one of the facts of life." Lucy smiled up at Susan.

"It's one of the what?" Edmund's voice made Susan jump, hitting her head on the bed frame. He had obviously entered the room in time to hear the last words Lucy said. Susan paused for a moment to think of the inclinations that that phrase had, especially when spoken by Lucy. She started to giggle, then fell into all-out laughing. Lucy was cracking up, unable to hold it in. Even Ed started to laugh, although he was still ignorant as to what Lucy meant. They were laughing so much that when Peter entered the room, two minutes later, they were all still laughing.

"Am I missing something?" he asked, perplexed.

"Nothing, Pete," said Edmund, wiping his eyes.

Lucy pulled on Peter's sleeve. "Come on, Peter, let's go for a walk and let them talk. We need to talk too."

"About what?" Peter asked, slightly worried by the fact that all his siblings had been laughing when he entered the room and because the last time Lucy had gone on a walk with him, Edmund had dumped pudding on him from a window above.

"Lucy wants to talk with you about the facts of life, Peter!" Ed smirked as he watched his brother's reaction. He immediately turned bright red and started stuttering. "Have fun!" he added, shutting the door on the still gibbering Peter.

As soon as it was shut, Susan burst into fresh spasms of laughter. "Did you see- his face? He was- so- scared!" Edmund cracked up also, as he recalled Lucy's determined expression and Peter's helpless one. It was several minutes before either of them could speak clearly.

"Seriously, though," Edmund finally managed to say. "What does Lucy want us to talk about?"

Susan's face fell, and Edmund had his answer. Not again, he mentally groaned.

"Edmund, I know you haven't wanted to talk about it… I suppose you thought it would hurt me. But I just really need to know. How's he doing? Did he mention me at all?" Susan's hopeful face was right beside Edmund. And, looking at it, he made a choice.

"He's getting married, Susan. That's why I haven't wanted to tell you about him. He told me that you should move on, just like he had."

In the years after, Edmund would always swear that he had never seen his sister in as much pain as she was then. But he also always said he had done it so that she would never be in any more pain from him. There was a very long time before Susan spoke again. Her face was turned so Edmund couldn't see her expression, but he could hear the pain in her voice.

"Is she… very beautiful?"

"He seems to think so," Edmund said. "She's blonde and willowy and has green eyes." The last part was purely spite, for Edmund knew that Susan was very proud of her blue eyes, and saying that Caspian found green eyes more attractive was painful for her to hear.

"I see." Then Susan turned her face to him, and he could see the glistening tears on her face. "Thank you, Edmund."

He did not say anything else, partly because nothing else was necessary and partly because he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He felt like a fake, a traitor on par with what he had done before by supporting the White Witch. But then he remembered Susan's listlessness and tears over the past year or so, and he hardened his heart and tried to convince himself the words were necessary.

"ED!" The shout brought him out of his musing. It was Peter. "Ed, come here, quickly!" He jumped to his feet and ran out the door. He had no clue why Peter was calling him, but if he had to guess… Although he was glad that Peter no longer insisted on fighting all his battles by himself, he wished that he hadn't taken on the role of abused sidekick.

Susan evidently thought the same thing, because she was behind him in a second, yelling down the hallway as they ran. "Peter Pevensie, I said no more fighting!" They charged around the corner and out the door together, following the sounds of the occasional yelp.

Lucy entered Susan's room, unsurprised that both Susan and Edmund had run to Peter's aid. Really, was it so hard for him to just stop answering back? It hadn't even been that bad of a thing the boy had said about her, but Peter had taken quite a bit of offense and punched the boy then and there. When she had last left (she had gone for bandages, as doubtless Peter would need them again), the fight had been four on one. Yet she still had no doubt Peter would win, especially as Edmund was joining him.

She was about to leave when she noticed Susan's book of poems. One which Susan had copied out lay on the table. She picked it up and read it.

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,

Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years:

Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard

In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees

A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide,

And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,

Down which she so often has tripped with her pail;

And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,

The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,

The mist and the river, the hill and the shade:

The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,

And the colors have all passed away from her eyes!

With an expression far older and sadder than her ten years, Lucy replaced the poem and walked out of the room.

Hopefully everyone caught that this poem is written by William Wordsworth. It's called "The Reverie of Poor Susan".