Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.
ISA 43:18-19: "Remember not the former things,
nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I am doing a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?"
Susan smiled gently, leaning on the balcony of her old private rooms in Cair Paravel.
It looked out on the Southern Gardens and from where she was she could see Peter and Edmund teaming up to grill her beloved Drinian, under pretence of a stroll among the marigolds.
She absently noted that Erice, the Royal Gardener, had kept the flowerbeds healthy and blooming just like when she was Queen here. It made her smile in remembered fondness. She'd always liked the quiet Hedgehog.
She shook her head in fond exasperation at how Peter was negligently decapitating the poor blooms as he passed. Her warrior brother had never learned to appreciate flowers.
She stifled a laugh as she watched the three men she loved the most in the world interact. By their body language, it was easy to guess Peter and Edmund were giving the 'big brother speech' to a rather intimidated-looking Drinian. Well, she supposed getting thoroughly threatened by the equivalent of King Arthur would be a rattling experience, even for a strong-hearted veteran like her beloved.
She wasn't worried. Her husband had earned her esteem and admiration as well as her love and she was no fool, she'd met and evaluated her fair share of suitors and she wasn't taken in by shallow attractions: she wouldn't have conceded him her heart and her hand if he was unworthy. However prejudiced against him her silly, overprotective, wonderful brothers might be at first, they would find no true fault with him in the end.
He was a good man, and a good King.
She sighed in deep contentment, letting her gaze wander over the gardens, the orchard, the walls of the castle and further, sweeping the Southern lands that were dearer to her than she could express, as far as her eyes could see, basking in the warmth of the sun.
Before she realized it, her thoughts had wandered as well, thinking of the other Narnia, the one she'd lived in these past few years, the one she'd come to love as much as the land she was looking at now.
Her mind connected the landmarks she could barely make out in the distance with the events of the war against Caspian's horrid uncle rather than with her former rule. She still shivered in remembrance of the terrible ordeal.
From the very start, her 'solo adventure' had been as awful as their early on war against the White Witch – though in the end, it had proved just as rewarding, too. At first, however…!
The surprise, the wonder, the fear she'd felt when she'd found herself taken from that train station by magic… when she'd realized she was alone!
One moment she was bickering with Peter; the next the luggage, the seat, the platform, and the station had completely vanished and so had her family!
She was all alone in an unrecognizable woody place, with branches sticking into her sides. Instinctively, remembering her Dryad friends' lessons of old, she'd struggled out of the thicket so that she could have a clearer idea of the situation and have more room in case she needed to defend herself (or run).
She'd found herself looking down on a sandy beach, not a cloud in the blue, blue sky to soften the glaringly bright sunlight. A few yards away a very calm, dazzling sapphire sea was sending tiny ripples to brush lightly on the sand, hardly making any sound.
She'd stood almost sobbing in the idyllic landscape, a faint taste of salt sprinkling her lips, and felt fear and desperation threaten to overwhelm her.
She didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd been brought there, or by whom, and she was alone! Alone! She could do anything with her siblings at her side. She had- they had done so much, been through so much- facing danger and horror as one. They were strong together. But alone…!
She'd closed her eyes tightly against the reality of her adventure, shutting out the glare of the midday sun on that empty beach, hugging herself, feeling small and lonely.
It had taken her a while to get over her fit of fear; but Narnia had always had a beneficial effect on her – like on everyone who loved the beautiful country.
And this was Narnia. No doubt could dwell in her mind: there was just a peculiar feeling to the air here, the reverberations of the Deep Magic that permeated every fibre of Narnia's beloved world, and Susan had long been particularly sensitive to its presence, ever since she'd witnessed its most wondrous effect.
Her thoughts had fluttered to that awful, blessed dawn when she and Lucy had mourned Aslan, and seen Him restored.
The memory of the Lion's joy-filled roar had calmed her like nothing else could. She could almost feel Him near.
She'd straightened, and waited, hoping for an instant to meet Him.
Alas, it was not to be! For all that she strained her eyes, He was nowhere to be seen. Only His warm, loving voice had reached her, and it was all around her, or maybe it was inside her, deep in her heart: "Once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen!"
She'd taken a deep breath then, feeling stronger than ever.
No matter what, she was Queen Susan of Narnia – and as a Queen she would act. It would not do to behave like a scared child now that she was back.
This was her country and for some reason, she was needed here. Whatever the problem was, she would face it with her head held high. She would look out for Narnia's interests – alone, since it was necessary. She would not let her people down!
It was at that point that her logical brain had started working properly again and she'd faintly recalled the sound that had preceded her vanishing from the station. It had been such a familiar sound…
"Of course!" she'd exclaimed to herself in realization. "It was my Horn! I remember now. I took it with me the last day of all, the day we went hunting the White Stag. It must have got lost when we blundered back into the good Professor's house. Someone must have found it!"
She'd shaken her head in dismay, thinking of the Gifts she and Peter and Lucy had been given long ago by Father Christmas, which they valued more than their whole kingdom. She'd felt sure of her deduction. It had been the Horn – her own Horn – that had dragged her off that platform. She could hardly believe it, yet it all fit: she remembered well what Father Christmas had told her when he'd handed it to her… And when you put this horn to your lips; and blow it, then, wherever you are, I think help of some kind will come to you…
Well, help had come to whoever had blown it: though she hadn't known whether to laugh or cry at the situation. She knew lots of stories about magic forcing people out of one world into another, but it was rather disconcerting being on the genie's side!
Still, if this was the will of Aslan… she would see it done.
She'd straightened her clothes, her movements smoothing out in renewed grace of old, and set her self-doubts to rest. Her people needed her, and with the help of Aslan, she would not let them down.
Nevertheless, it had been a shock to discover just how much time had passed. Cair Paravel, her home, in ruins; her sibling and herself nothing more than legends, whispers of a Golden Age long gone, pictures on the bas-reliefs of a refuge that didn't even exist in her time; and her beloved country…
Her land was so different – hurt, scarred, altered beyond recognition…
Her heart constricted painfully when she heard nothing but silence from the trees, when no welcoming arms rose to her from the waters, when looking into the eyes of a huge Bear, she found nothing but feral mindlessness.
Oh, what had they done to her beautiful country?
She'd lost count of how many times she'd almost given up, almost broken down, the uncertainty and self-doubt and heartache almost getting to her. She'd lost count of how many occasions she'd faced when only the distrustful hope and weary yearning in the eyes of the Narnians had kept her mask of strength and serenity in place, despite her inner turmoil.
But in the end, her choice, her determination, to be a rock they could hold onto had been the right one.
Slowly, she'd seen the battered, fearful creatures gather and rise, once again choosing fight over flight. Slowly, some light had started peeking through the clouds of fear and defeat, painting the situation in lighter colours.
It hadn't been easy.
She'd missed Peter terribly– she was no war leader, she'd always been the one to stay home, never able to stomach battle or blood, least of all her siblings' blood, no matter how much heartache and worry being the one left behind caused. Now she could only smile faintly, shadows of old and remembered pain flickering in her eyes, and ruefully admit that, when it had come right down to it, when war had been unavoidable and her presence the only source of strength and courage for her people, she too could be a fighter, a leader. She'd learned to make do without her brother.
She'd desperately wished that Lucy was there. Her simple radiance would have managed to restore hope and faith much quicker than her painstaking efforts had, her bravery would have inspired the Narnian resistance more easily than Susan's insecurity-threatened actions. She'd never thought she could be like her valiant sister, who indomitably followed her brothers in their campaigns, always ready to support and encourage, to heal and sooth. Susan was a Queen of Peace, of feasts and dances, of careful negotiations hidden in pretty compliments and pleasant conversations. It had been hard to face a battlefield were everything was straightforward, and ugly, and gory. But she'd done it, and after a while, she'd stopped looking for Lucy's golden head on the fields, and trusted her own strength instead.
She'd longed for Edmund's steadiness and comforting calm, too, for the soothing confidence that he knew the right path and would steer them safely, like an experienced captain on a well-known route. She had been so full of doubts, of worries, of misgivings, behind her façade of graceful determination. She'd learned to trust different advisors then her siblings, eventually.
Because there had been nothing to it: it was her duty to be what her people needed her to be – and by the Lion, she would!
And the Narnians must have seen this, because they'd come to her, hope in their eyes, gathering around her with faith, trusting her to make things right.
It had been humbling to see their trust – and disheartening to realize that they all expected something different from her.
Her people had been divided, separated by conflicting opinions, Dwarves and Beasts at odds with each other almost ferociously. Dismayed, she'd watched them spit vicious words at one another, unable to band together even in the face of the crisis they were facing. How was she to reconcile these opposing factions?
There were those who'd kept the memory of the Golden Age clear in their hearts, who believed that the Narnian thrones should be occupied by Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. "We remember," they would say, "even if you forget, we'll always remember, that Narnia was never right except when a Son of Adam was King."
Such claims were not taken well by those who were utterly convinced that all humans were foul, contemptible creatures and any attempt at alliance with them was hopelessly ill-fated. "Humans… The less they know about us the better!" would say the milder ones, but the majority had much stronger opinions: "I hate 'em. I hate 'em worse than renegades!... We can't let them live. They will betray us, enslave us… We ought to have killed them all at once…"
For all her love of solving problems through logic and rational debate; for all her pride in her ability to charm and win over her companions, no matter how prejudiced against her in the beginning; for all her experience of surviving the responsibilities of a ruler that had been placed on her young shoulders… the task of setting straight a legion of bewildered Narnians and make them into enough of a unit to have a hope to put the kingdom back to right was nothing short of unachievable.
Yet achieved it she had, slowly but surely.
Even then, picking a course of action had been easier said than done.
Glenstorm, who looked so much like Oreius she was often startled when his deeper and softer voice spoke, rather than her old General's sharp tones, had told her everything he thought she needed to know: from how the Golden days of her and her siblings' reign – and their descendants', something that had startled her, for she could not imagine how it could be, when they hadn't had any children that she knew of – had faded, to how the Dryads and Naiads had sunk into a deep sleep – a loss she'd felt keenly, like an actual ache – to how some Dwarf clans here and Beasts packs there had started forgetting Aslan, or treating Him as old wives' tales – which had Susan shake her head in saddened disbelief – and stopped thinking of themselves as cousins of all the other creatures in Narnia, weakening the land until it was ripe for the invasion and conquest that had wrecked it.
"The Telmarines have always been pirates, raiders, marauders. There are records of their attempts to conquer our country, and others too, all throughout history. It was only in my father's time however, that Narnia became so weak and frail that it was no longer possible to keep them away," had told her the imposing Centaur with the glossy chestnut flanks and golden-red beard.
"Scoundrels, all of them!" had shouted Reepicheep, the valiant and chivalrous leader of the Talking Mice of Narnia, two feet and seven pounds of reckless, if gallant, bravery and one of the most loyal and trustworthy knights she had ever met.
"Not all of them," Glenstorm had corrected quietly, but strongly. "Things would not have been so bad if Miraz's brother had remained King… he was startled to find that we're not demons like he'd been told all his life, but sentient people; but once he realized, he was willing to treat us rightly… we could have come to some form of co-existence, I believe."
"Ridiculous…" had grumbled Reepicheep, and the Centaur had sighed when many others had muttered agreements.
"Unfortunately, the old King Caspian was never interested in settling down and ruling a country… he had the blood of an adventurer, the sea called to him… it was far too easy for his loathsome brother Miraz to convince him to leave overseas… and to take the lords who were faithful to him along… and everything went downhill from there."
"The kid, Prince Caspian, isn't bad…" had been the calm comment of a sensible Badger. "We infiltrated some of us as his Nanny and Tutor so he would know the truth… he is on our side, and willing to fight against his uncle… He'll be there at the How, my Queen, then you'll see for yourself. I say great good will come of it. This is the true King of Narnia we're talking about here: a true King, coming back to true Narnia. You will see, my Lady…"
"You make me sick, Badger," had growled a disagreeable Dwarf. "The High King Peter and the rest may have been Men," and he'd looked daggers at Susan, "but they were a different sort of Men. This is one of the cursed Telmarines. He has hunted beasts for sport! You can't tell me that's the kind of King we should bow to!" he'd added rounding on her.
"You Dwarfs are as forgetful and changeable as the Humans themselves. I'm a beast, I am, and a Badger what's more. We don't change. We hold on. And as long as Prince Caspian will be true to Narnia he shall be my King, whatever you say. Am I perchance wrong, your Majesty?" the Badger, too, had turned to her, as if she had all the answers.
"Narnia is not Men's country!"
"But it's a country for a man to be King of!"
That was when Susan had finally realized that they weren't there to chase the invaders away, or not all of them at least: merely to make them understand, to make them accept.
And be accepted.
Perhaps an even more daunting task…
She had not let the wide-spread misgivings stop her. She had taken a deep breath and put purpose into her stride, leading her people not to the battle they'd expected, but to a meeting with the young Prince.
Then there had been the battle – after she'd made sure Prince Caspian would acknowledge and be fair to all Narnians, after the trees and waters had been reawakened with Aslan's help, after the Beasts and Dwarves and Dryads and Amadryads had been reunited into one people again and the Fallen ones who had tried to raise their heads and bring the White Witch back had been neutralized, and all, Narnians and Telmarines – or at least, the few Telmarines who supported Prince Caspian – had remembered that Narnia was, first and last, the land of Aslan.
There had been the Battle… at Beruna, once again… ironic, she'd thought, and sad, and terrible. But she tried not to think too much of the blood and tears that had been shed.
She had been there, her quiver slung at her side and her bow twanging without pause, the chirruping sound lost in the nightmarish roar of battle but vibrating through her soul terribly.
She had not hesitated, she had not faltered, she had not wavered. She had been strong and implacable and relentless, as was expected of her, as was needed.
But she hadn't liked it.
Still, the battle had been fought and won, Miraz killed, thankfully out of her sight, and the civil war subdued at last.
And Caspian had become King, crowned by Aslan on a glorious summer day. And he would be a good King; already was, actually.
It had, however, been an unsettling end to the years of hostility, both for her people and the remaining Telmarines. The atmosphere of tension and uncertainty had reminded her strongly, unpleasantly, of the times right after her own coronation, when the Witch's clutch over the country hadn't yet been completely shaken off. And she'd known, that it was up to her to reassure, to smooth things over, to show the way.
Narnians had to mix with Telmarines and become one people, stronger, united under one sky.
Perhaps because of what had always been her role, marriage came naturally to her as a solution…
She'd carefully sounded out opinions and found more or less what she expected. The 'true' Narnians, still rather downtrodden and distrustful towards the 'invaders', felt that marrying a Queen of Old would legitimate a King, even if he was a 'foreigner'. The Telmarines had long been accustomed to brides bringing a dowry to their husband and were more accepting of the 'oddities' like Talking Beasts when they saw it all in the light of enrichments brought to their King through marriage.
Marry a Telmarine to solve most issues of integrations; marry a Telmarine to make her people – all her people, old and new – happy.
Strange how the idea didn't bother her in the least.
Perhaps it was because she'd always thought she would marry away from Cair Paravel, marry 'for Narnia'… for the political alliances and advantageous connexions her wedding could bring to her country… even though no-one had ever pressured her in such a direction, she had always given it for granted: part of her 'duty', part of her role.
From this point of view, meeting Drinian had been a sweeter luck than she could put into words: for she was married indeed, married for her country, yet she was still Queen in Narnia!
She knew that many had expected – or at least wished – her union with Caspian. It had, after all, looked like the most logical and sensible solution.
She still could only sigh at the thought. He was a dear boy, one she would gladly call brother, and proudly support as King, but he was not suited to her. His crush on her was endearing, but…
No. Just no.
He was too young, too naïve, too awkward still… he was sweet, loyal and bright, with a curiosity and thirst for discovery to rival Lucy's and as time went by, he was growing stronger and firmer, his confidence making him steady without spilling into arrogance: more and more, she was coming to believe he was worthy of sitting on her brother's throne.
Yet, none of these qualities were enough to make her regret turning him down.
She knew herself too well: she knew that she would be neither happy nor at ease with herself, unless she could truly esteem her husband, know that he was her equal, and worthy of her respect. Caspian was a great King, but, for goodness' sake, he was still intimidated by her, and it had been years since they'd met!
No, it was another who had won her over in the end, one that perhaps should never even have caught her eye. And yet…
She'd had many suitors in her life, and some were more handsome, more witty, of more noble birth, of more engaging manners, even more charming; yet in the end, Lord Drinian alone had touched something deep inside her, close enough to where she held her siblings for her to understand that her choice was made. She guessed that this tall man, both stern and gentle, both passionate and prudent, was just what she had unconsciously looked for in her various courtiers and never found before.
Still, he had not pursued her, likely believing her rank too above his own. Long she had suspected his regard for her, yet nothing in his manner of address or behaviour could give her chance to believe he asked for more. And as her understanding of her own esteem, admiration… and yes, love, grew, she wondered if she should be the one to speak after all.
At last, in the flaming light of a stormy sunset high on the southern walls, she had bid him to talk.
His burning eyes had sought her serious gaze and held it.
"I daren't, Lady."
"And if I was not your Queen?"
And his silence had broken at last, like a dam, and the words that had burst forth had swept her away in a whirlwind of emotions more dangerous than the tempestuous wind swirling around them.
"Then… Susan… I would say to you that you are beautiful, and that my admiration for you knows no bounds… for you are a lady of grace and valour and have won yourself renown that shall never be forgotten… and you are fine-looking, I deem, beyond even the words of poets… and I shall always revere you, you who are as strong and stern as steel, yet frail and fair as the snowdrops that dot late winter's fields… you who are both beautiful and cold, like a morning of pale spring… you whom I care for the most in this world… I love you, My Queen, nor that will ever change…"
She had felt then as if something deep inside her had softened, the way bitter frost yields at the first faint presage of spring. A tear had sprung in her eye and fallen down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop, as she had stood upon the walls just gazing at him through tears of happiness, straight and queenly and so blissful that she almost feared her heart would burst.
And when she'd said her 'yes', he'd taken her in his arms and kissed her under the blazing sky, and neither had cared that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. And many indeed had seen them, crowned by the reddish gold of dusk, and as they came down from the walls hand in hand, only knowing smiles and quiet cheers had greeted them.
She had not been disappointed in her choice. The more the time passed and the more Drinian truly stepped up to his true role, supporting Caspian in the daunting task of leading all of Narnia much in the same way Edmund used to support Peter, steadying the young King and strengthening his confidence as well as tempering his rashness.
And to those among their people – Old Narnians and Telmarines alike, for there were less and less distinctions – who were perplexed or even disappointed, she had gently reminded: "Are there not four thrones in Narnia?"
For the kingdom to be at its best, all four had to be occupied, this she firmly believed.
Caspian would find someone who was perfect for him sooner or later, someone who would seat on Lucy's throne and make him happy: she was certain of it, and something told her that his Queen would be… radiant.
As for her, she couldn't be prouder, or happier, at how her home was faring…
Weird how that other Narnia had become Home so naturally in her soul.
For so long she'd thought of Cair Paravel during the Golden Age as her home; certainly for much longer than she'd even known Drinian and Caspian and all the others. Yet now 'home' was so far away – in time, though not in miles.
She knew Lucy planned to stay here, or rather, now, that they all wanted the Gentle Queen back, her siblings and her friends, that they expected her to step back into her place of beloved Sister, revered Queen, as if nothing had changed, but she wasn't staying.
The war had hardened her, not having three others to take on the hardships had strengthened her, she didn't want to go back to a role she no longer felt was hers, to routines and places and people that, though still dear to her heart, were more like cherished, evanescent memories than anything else. And besides, Drinian was her home now.
Not to mention…
Her hands strayed to her womb of their own volition, cradling it gently. She had an indisputable reason to go back with her husband now, one that her siblings would not object to once she revealed it. Edmund at least should understand deeply. She shook her head in wonder, still unable to believe her baby brother had a child.
She had not told her beloved that he was going to be a father yet. He might well get some ludicrous notion in his head, of sending her home or something, for her own good. She shook her head with a faint smile. She'd been there when Caspian had made his vow, binding all the Monarchs of Narnia to the search of his lost father: she wasn't going to be left behind.
She planned on telling Lucy though, and her brothers, before she left: they deserved that much.
She wondered if her child would be a boy or a girl. She wondered if it would take after her and her siblings or after its father instead. She wondered if they would be as good a King or Queen as their relatives were. She wondered if her brothers and sister would ever meet them.
She prayed that they would; but no matter what, she was leaving with her Drinian.
She caught sight of the green-eyed Prince Leo as she walked back to the others. It was a horrible thing to say, to be sure, but she wasn't particularly fond of her nephew.
This was no longer her world, this was no longer her life. To try and rekindle flames snuffed out long before was foolish. She'd always been practical: had she been confined to England, she would have done her best to fit into that world and forget this one. She was beyond grateful that she'd been granted a life with a man she loved and people she could love too, but this castle she was walking the halls of was no longer part of her life, nor of her affections. And something told her Edmund's son would not cross her path again.
Still, she was leaving soon, she was sure: she could be the gracious and gentle Queen her good manners required her to be at all times for the short span of time they were together.
She gave him a beautiful smile, sweet and empty, as she passed; and went to look for her husband.