The Key to the Kingdom
A/N: Being an oh-so-terribly late birthday gift to the lovely, supremely talented, and mercifully patient faithfulpurelight. Happy b-day, honey!
"Peter, High King of Narnia," said Aslan. "Shut the Door."
Peter, shivering with cold, leaned out into the darkness and pulled the Door to. It scraped over ice as he pulled it. Then, rather clumsily (for even in that moment his hands had gone numb and blue) he took out a golden key and locked it.
- The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis
It started out such a small, inconsequential incident, but just as an avalanche starts with something as slight as a single snowflake, the inconsequential would have mighty ramifications.
She was walking through the public library, her arms filled with books for the return cart, when she passed it: a book of Asian art, left open on one of the tables. Susan Pevensie paused, then turned and stepped back, drawn to the colored plate of a fabulous vase emblazoned with a dragon. A moment later she almost dropped the books as she recognized the dragon.
Dawn Treader.
She stared, speechless. That feathery red ruff, the barred purple eyes, the pearl clutched in his clawed forefoot – she knew the details, knew him. Dawn Treader, the Celestial Dragon, the Sky Walker, the Sun Grazer, Air Commander of the Void beyond the dome of the sky. He was the herald of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea. She knew him, had met him. He was of another world, another plane entirely removed from this one and even from her true home in Narnia – why would his image appear in a library book in a suburb of London? Why here? Why now? Why to her?
She set the books down on the table to pull the book of art closer. The plate was unlike any she had ever seen – colors so vivid and real they dazzled her eyes and made the image seemed ready to pull off the page and speak in his echoing voice. He was almost glowing with energy on this sunless day. Dawn Treader looked at her, as he had once looked at Peter, examining and learning her, and she knew in her heart that this moment was deliberate. He had sought her out. Why?
"Dawn Treader," she whispered, "good herald, why are you here? What brings you, cousin? Have you a message? Is something amiss at home?" The other time she had seen him, he had brought tragic news to Narnia, warning of the death of a Star. What could bring him all the way into this world?
He gazed at her from the page, silent. Carefully, Susan lifted the edge of the plate, but there was nothing to see under the image. She flipped the page, but was met with the text of the book. Disappointed, she turned the page back.
A little gasp escaped her lips to see that Dawn Treader was gone. The dragon on the vase was just a typical Asian dragon, exotic and colorful and nameless. Disappointed, a little disconcerted, Susan hastily looked here and there in the book, hoping to see him again without luck. Feeling off balance, she swallowed at the lump in her throat before she collected the books and brought them to the cart, wondering what had just happened.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
The following afternoon she was running a few minutes late to meet Roger and Madge for tea, and she dashed through the rain, dodging puddles and grateful for the umbrella she clutched. Still, she couldn't avoid all the water and her shoes and stockings were rather wet when finally she reached the little restaurant. Madge was sitting in the window seat and waved merrily as Susan darted by. Laughing, Susan gladly handed off her coat and hat to the hostess before joining her companions. Roger rose to meet her, so tall and dashing and ever the gentleman. She smiled as he gave her a chaste peck on the cheek, and she took a moment to revel in the fact that this handsome and successful young man with the soft gray eyes and shining dark hair was as enamored with her as she was with him.
Another young man stood to greet her. This was Thomas, the most recent of Madge's love interests. He was fair, but not quite as handsome or clever as he seemed to think himself to be, and she disliked his habit of picking other people apart as if they were scientific studies. She wasn't sure what Madge saw in him, but for her friend's sake, Susan was willing to put up with his idiosyncrasies.
"Susan! My, you're all wet!" exclaimed Thomas wryly.
It was just the sort of backhanded comment she expected from him. Luckily, she was more than equipped to handle his brand of humor.
"Well, yes, it's a natural effect of rain," she replied, letting Roger pull her chair out for her and glossing over Thomas' attempted dig. "Have you ordered yet?"
Despite Thomas, it was a pleasant afternoon and by the time they had finished, the rain had stopped and the sun was doing its best to banish the clouds. Gathered out on the curb, they shared a last few comments before heading home. As they chatted, a Chinese family – clearly several generations of very young and very old and everything in between - moved past them, talking amongst themselves in musical tones as they went about their business. Susan and Roger moved out of the way to let them pass, while Thomas ushered Madge aside only very reluctantly, as if making way for them was of the utmost inconvenience.
A sudden impact into Susan's legs caused her to let out a little "Oh!" of surprise. She looked down as a little boy, no more than four or five and so focused on the wooden animal in his hands that he hadn't noticed her, stepped back, blinking and dropping the toy. He stared up at her with wide, brown eyes. His surprise bordered on fright, and Susan moved to put him at his ease.
"Oh," she repeated in a friendly tone. "Are you all right?"
She crouched down to retrieve the toy, wiping a bit of grit off it before she held it out to him with a smile. It was only then that she looked at what she held: Dawn Treader. The figurine was nowhere near as delicate and detailed as the image of the vase had been, but the colors and form were unmistakable. She stared, astonished anew. The little boy broke into a wide smile and said something in his own language, clearly very proud of his possession and happy to show it off. With a little hitch in her breath, Susan admired it before she handed it to him, saying,
"That's the Celestial Dragon, isn't it? It's a very fine likeness."
A woman a little older than Susan, in a tunic and trousers and with her hair elaborately styled, came and scooped the boy up, admonishing him lovingly and bowing apologetically to Susan. Shaking her head and smiling, Susan begged her not to fret. The large family hurried along on their way, and Susan waved to little boy as he watched her over his mother's shoulder. He gave her a small wave back, still clutching his toy, his eyes bright with pleasure.
"Little monkey," grumbled Thomas.
Susan frowned. Despite her confusion at seeing Dawn Treader again, the whole incident had been a delight and the little boy nothing short of darling. "Really, Thomas? He's a baby." She let her tone imply that the Chinese boy wasn't the only baby on the curb. "Besides," she said, glancing at Roger for his reaction, "I knew the dragon."
"Knew the dragon?" Thomas echoed in a sarcastic, disbelieving voice.
"Yes," she said airily. "The Celestial Dragon. Guardian of the sky. A messenger from heaven."
Roger gazed at her with interest and amusement. He was used to such moods and comments coming from her, and he seemed to simply accept these little insights with good grace. The things she knew about and her ability to handle herself so well and graciously were, she knew, a constant source of fascination for him.
"It doesn't surprise me that you know a dragon," Madge quickly teased, trying to calm Thomas' ruffled feathers with some lighthearted banter. "You make friends with every cat and bird and horse you see. Why, if a lion came down the street right now, Susan would try to tame him!"
Susan gave her a faint smile as she slipped her arm through Roger's. "No," she said softly, almost dreamily, "you cannot tame a Lion."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
"Thomas is an ass."
Susan leaned heavily on Roger's arm. "I confess, I don't see what Madge sees in him."
"A fat wallet, perhaps. There's not much more substance."
"You have a fat wallet," she reminded, looking up at him with large, amused eyes.
"And I have substance," Roger declared. "Which I like think counts for more than money. One doesn't need wealth to be decent. What's more, I listen and I hear. Rare qualities all, if my mother is to be believed. You know, I haven't forgotten what you said the night we met. You were talking to that stodgy lump from the Navy – what was his name? Fitzmartins? Anyway, you roundly reminded him that during the war, the home front was still a front, and that the military wasn't alone in defending Britain from the Jerry's and they weren't the only ones sacrificing and dying. Thomas seems cut from the same fabric."
"I remember. He turned alarmingly red. I might have been too short with him."
"You weren't short enough. He deemed himself the hero of the war for keeping a boiler hot."
"I don't think anyone had it easy. I couldn't abide him standing there and telling the volunteers our time during the war had been so easy because we were home. He somehow seemed to think we had roast beef for dinner every night and never wanted for coal or shoes or paper. Doesn't anyone see how we envied the men who were allowed to act? To take up arms and actually defend what we love? We women can fight just as well as men, but we're expected to stay home and knit socks and be satisfied. Why can't they see that being left behind is worse than being able to go?"
He gazed at her in astonishment. "Do you really think that, Susan?"
"I know it!" she exclaimed. "I've lived it." Time and again, she'd lived it.
He nodded thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered that. I was so glad to rush in and volunteer. I couldn't understand why my sister wasn't pleased. Maybe she wanted to go as well. I thought Roger North was going to single-handedly turn back the Luftwaffe and defend all of Britain."
"Were you knighted?" she asked, feeding into his fantasies.
"Knighted? Madam, I was made a baron and advisor to the king."
"At least they saw your true worth."
"Oh, yes." He huffed a little laugh. "The only time I saw the inside of a fighter was when I was delivering them to the airfields. I can't tell you how excited I was to finally be sent to France even though it was more endless supply runs. Things could get pretty hot when the Jerry's started taking aim, I'll confess, and we had a few close shaves. There's no taking away the fact they made a damned good anti-aircraft gun with an army to match."
"Someone had to shuttle those planes and bring supplies, and I imagine the men who saw your planes coming thought you as much a hero as you thought them, and envied you the same."
He paused to gaze at her thoughtfully. "You make it all sound so important."
"Because it all is. The front line of a war has a thousand lines behind it helping to hold it in place, like a piece of fabric or a rope. If one strand goes, the whole rope is weakened."
He squeezed her hand. "You'd make a better officer than most men I served under, Susan Pevensie."
"Yes," she said distantly, smiling up at him. "I'm sure I did. I-"
She broke off, staring past his shoulder, and Roger turned to see what caught her eye. Across the street, nestled snugly between a grocer and a tenement that had seen better days was a shabby little pawn broker with a decided Asian flair. The faded and peeling sign above the door read 'Lucky Dragon' in stylized letters. In the cloudy window hung an old silk banner depicting a roaring lion with a dragon twined around the image.
"I say, Susan, isn't that your friend the dragon again?" asked Roger.
"Yes," she breathed, her gaze fixed on the shop.
He looked at her, saw how pale she had grown, and briskly said, "Well. Let's step over and say hello, shall we?"
Susan looked at him in surprise. How many men would have said that? Very few that she knew of.
She took his arm again, already feeling better. "Yes."
To their mutual disappointment, the shop was closed. Peering through the grimy windows, they took in the cluttered shelves and single narrow aisle winding through the detritus of a thousand attics crammed into a single room. Furniture, carpets, figurines, books, and artwork filled the dusty little shop from floor to ceiling.
"This looks like an adventure waiting to happen," Roger exclaimed. "I wouldn't be surprised if they had Aladdin's lamp and a flying carpet somewhere in there."
She smiled and stepped back to the curb to consider the silk banner. The lion was painted in gold with an attempt at realism that seemed to capture him midway between East and West. The dragon coiled in a circle, framing the lion with his long body. The manes and tufted tales of both creatures bristled and shone, and even through the grime on the window, their eyes seemed alive and knowing. Susan felt the sting of tears as she recognized the landscape behind the lion, behind Aslan: it was the Dancing Lawn, facing south towards the Great River. She knew that line of hills as well as she knew the back of her own hand. And on the outside edges, held at bay by the dragon's snaking body, were the constellations in the Narnian sky.
"That's a striking piece," said Roger in honest admiration, joining her. "Is that a kingfisher in the corner? Do they live in Asia?"
She looked, her heart racing. It was indeed a kingfisher. She knew what she would see in the opposite corner, and she raised her eyes to the plump little owl. Aslan, Dawn Treader, and now the Birds of Sorrow and Joy, Sirin and Alkonost – what were they trying to tell her?
"Shame they're closed. I'd like to take a wander through there."
"I would, too." She looked right into Aslan's eyes and promised, "I'll come back tomorrow."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
A tinny bell announced her entrance as Susan stepped into the narrow, one-room pawn shop. There was a smell of incense and must and tobacco that reminded her of the study off the library in Cair Paravel. It had been a favorite meeting place for the castle's aspiring poets, and many a battle of words had been waged as she'd sit and listen to them critique one another's work on a rainy day.
She moved slowly, savoring the memories as she let her eyes wander over the antiquities. There were items from all over the world, piled up like the treasury deep beneath Cair Paravel, though she doubted the collectables here were as carefully catalogued as the royal jewels. There was only one light on in the shop, a stained-glass affair on the glass display case that served as the counter in the back.
"Hello?" she called, wanting to make sure she was not alone.
There was movement behind the case and an old woman nodded to her from behind the counter. She wore a blue-gray tunic with red frogging, and she held a long pipe with a tiny bowl in her hand. Susan smiled.
"Good afternoon. Do you mind if I look around?"
With a shake of her head, the woman waved the pipe, saying in a raspy voice, "When you have questions, I have answers."
It was an odd and unexpected response, and Susan could not help but consider it from several directions at once. It was an offer and a promise, complex and simple, and right in keeping with the odd series of events she'd enjoyed these past few days.
"Thank you," she said, and let herself explore.
She wished Roger was with her, and she knew she would have to bring him back here. He would delight in the art and glassware, the delicate little tables and stacks of books and maps. For all the shop was small, there was so much to see that it was an hour or more before Susan found herself at the rear of the store, peering into the glass case.
And there she saw it, resting atop a velvet cushion with the more valuable pieces of jewelry and trinkets the shop had to offer. A gold key, not half the length of her forefinger, and more finely crafted than any piece of jewelry she had seen in this world. The bow was shaped into a delicately filigreed knotwork that twisted down the shaft to the bit, and it was etched and burnished with exquisite detail. She recognized the style and craftsmanship instantly. No earthly jeweler had made this piece. She knew that as a certainty. It was Narnian. Dwarf-made, if she was any judge. She could feel it almost singing to her.
The old dame behind the counter noted her interest and smiled faintly. Susan stood from where she had crouched down, never shifting her gaze as she observed,
"This key. It's a very beautiful piece."
A knowing nod was her reply. As she spoke, the shopkeeper opened the case and retrieved the key, setting it on a square of velvet for Susan to see. "It belonged to a chatelaine."
Not a chain of keys and household tools, Susan knew, but to the mistress of a great palace. As she had been . . .
"I know," Susan said. "What is it for?"
"A Door."
"A door to where?"
"A stable."
Her heart was racing. A gold key for a stable door? "What's in the stable?"
The dame smiled faintly, as if reading her thoughts. "A kingdom. A world."
"I saw a wardrobe like that, once."
"Then your eyes are open."
"Can I step through the door?" she dared ask, knowing the answer before it came.
"No more. You cannot go in, gentle lady. But that does not mean those within cannot come out to you."
"Where was this made? How did it come to be here?"
"Through the stable Door," the woman said, answering both questions. "It was given me to hold until the time is right. Would you buy it?"
"Can it be bought?"
"No more than you."
"I'm afraid I don't have any money," Susan admitted. Something this fine and rare and beautiful would be priced at far more than she could afford.
The old woman smiled again. "There are things of value beyond paper or coin. Give me the moon and stars and the sun and the key to the kingdom is yours."
Moon and sun? Moon and sun? Susan looked down, puzzling these words, knowing the answer was close. She thought back. In Narnia, where the key had come from, the moon and stars and sun were beings, a family. They resided in the vault of the sky. And beyond the vault, was the void commanded by Dawn Treader . . . Susan closed her eyes a moment, recalling the dragon's image on the vase, the toy, the banner, that sinewy form and that feathery red ruff and blunt antlers, and in his claw, a pearl as luminous as the moon . . .
The Sun Grazer. . .
Her mind echoed with words and images: A Star's brilliant death, her mother the Moon wrapped in mourning. Sunrise over the sea, sunset over the hills. Ropes of pearls cool about her neck and in her hair. A band of silver in a band of gold. Dancing on a moonlit night, stars brighter than diamonds casting their glow, the heat of summer and the smell of trampled grass and the taste of wine on her lips. . .
She opened her eyes. Her gaze fell to where her hand rested on the display case, and there, on her finger, she saw it.
The pearl ring. Her grandmother Eleanor's ring, given her by her mother on her last birthday. She had worn it every day since. It was a single white pearl set with small diamond chips on either side, bound in yellow gold. The moon and stars and the sun. Cool white and brilliant gold, shining specks of light. Gold and pearl and diamonds.
She never hesitated, but slipped the antique band from her finger and set it on the square of velvet beside the key. It was a beautiful thing and Susan treasured it dearly, but she didn't need it to remember her grandmother, any more than she needed it to know that Eleanor loved her. If Dawn Treader, herald to the Emperor Over Sea, had led her here, now, then the golden key was infinitely more important than an heirloom.
The old shop keeper scrutinized the ring without touching it, and slowly she nodded and faintly smiled, pushing the key toward Susan.
"It is thine, gentle lady. As is the kingdom. As is the world."
She cupped the key tightly in her palm, her heart racing to hold a piece of Narnia, a piece of home, once again. It should have felt cool, but to Susan the key felt as if had been warmed by the sun. She opened her hand to stare at the gorgeous workmanship, feeling her throat tighten as she fought back the urge to cry or sing or laugh. She imagined what Edmund would say when he saw it, how he would critique the delicate filigree. Peter would stare and have no words until after the tears. And Lucy . . . Lucy would dance around the room in wild delight. It was a moment she had never drempt of being hers in this world. Pressing her hand close to her heart, she looked up, not sure of what to do next and wanting this moment to last forever.
"Messengers have messengers," said the old dame in a knowing voice.
Susan looked at her in astonishment, and she saw that the woman's eyes were not brown as she had first thought, but gray. The color of a storm. Eyes that were old and young and laughing at having been recognized at the end.
Susan leaned forward, staring intently at the woman's face. "Have we met?"
The old crone laughed and sucked on her pipe. "Where would one such as I meet a queen?"
"In a palace by the sea," she said softly. "A palace with four thrones."
She smiled, her wrinkled face coming alive with pleasure. "I have heard of such a place."
"Where is your sister, lady?" asked Susan, knowing, knowing, knowing, and thrilled to her soul to see. "Where is Sirin?"
"Over Sea and next to me," was the glib reply.
Slowly, Susan Pevensie smiled, remembering the line from a song from long ago and far away. She blinked back tears as a surge of joy and hope filled her. "Will I see her as well?"
A look of deepest pain flitted across her wrinkled face, and there was infinite sorrow as she said, "Yes."
"What should I do with this?" she asked, holding up the key, her anxiety returning at the unexpected expression.
"Follow your heart. Follow the boxwood path. And live."
She was already moving toward the door, but she paused and looked back at Alkonost to promise in a tight whisper, "I shall, Lady, and I thank you."
The bell on the door chimed its tinny notes as Queen Susan the Gentle stepped back into a world where the magic was buried deep. The old woman smiled sadly, knowing what was to come, and quietly she whispered,
"Walk with the Lion, O Jewel of Narnia."
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
She stood on the pavement outside the shabby little shop, the world rushing back in on her with its noises and smells. Something of the spell of the place lingered with her, though. Her excitement at finding the key was undiminished, and noisy, bustling London seemed at once alive and watching. Her fist still tight about the key, Susan picked a direction and started walking, as serene and unhurried as if she was walking through the halls of Cair Paravel, her heart burning with her possession.
She glanced up and paused in surprise as she spotted a hummingbird painted on the sign for a clothing store. The paint was fresh and the emerald and ruby colors were vibrant against the afternoon sky. Despite the jostling crowd moving about her, she paused, remembering.
Messengers have messengers.
First the Emperor's herald, then Aslan's prophet, and now her own messenger. The Hummingbirds at Cair Paravel – ruby-throated for the most part – had served Susan as her couriers and pages. And here they were on this day of all days . . .
She almost gasped when a flash of brilliant green passed before her. Susan blinked, focusing on the woman walking by. Her coat was green, her scarf was shining red, and her hat was creamy white. All the colors of a hummingbird's plumage.
With a last glance at the sign, she followed, keeping the woman in sight. Joy and awe buoyed her along. She tried to imagine what her siblings would say of this day when she told them. The pieces of the puzzle were laid out before her, and all that remained was to put them together . . .
The woman was headed for the nearest train station. From across the busy street, Susan watched her pass through the station doors, wondering if she, too, should get on a train. She was debating her next step, wondering if she had enough money to go where she needed, when a familiar and beloved face caught her eye and she knew her herald had led her aright.
"Peter!"
He heard, but did not spot her, and she could see his blond head turn from side to side as he tried to find the caller. Narnian to the core, she saw him look around before sneaking in glances up and down. What was he doing here? This was hardly on his way back to Oxford and he wasn't due to return until next week . . .
"Peter!"
His face lit with surprise when he spotted her as she hurried across the street, moving with the crowd. It was like a river of people, all of them in a rush, and Susan broke away from the current and fought her way to her brother. He was calling her name, darting here and there through the crush as he struggled to reach her, but she couldn't hear him over the noise of traffic and commuters. A small break opened between them, and right there on the pavement he enveloped her in a hug, warm and strong and protective. He was everything an older brother should be.
"What are you doing here?" they both asked at the same time, then hesitated, tempted to laugh but each knowing something was not right for the other to be here, now.
He waited for her to speak first. She lowered her voice instinctively. "I think something is happening in Narnia. I think something's wrong."
Peter's face grew deadly serious. Holding her hand, he drew her off to the side, to a pocket of space by a news vendor's kiosk. He faced her, asking, "How do you know?"
She clutched his fingers tightly in her excitement. "I've been seeing Dawn Treader everywhere I go, in picture books and figures and art. It started two days ago. I knew he was trying to tell me something, and I found a little shop – and Peter, in the shop – I've just come from speaking to Alkonost! I know it was she, and she knew me!"
Shock filled his blue eyes, and Peter's mouth dropped open at them mention of the Gamiyun prophetess. For a heartbeat he could only stare, and then he found his voice.
"You're absolutely right, my queen. Something is wrong. Remember the other day when you mentioned Ed has been so unsettled? I found out why. On Friday I picked him up from rugby when he hurt his knee again and he told me -" He swallowed. "Susan, the Tree of Protection has died. He was still connected to it. It was old and frightened and sick and he felt it die. Narnia has nothing standing between it and corruption."
Her hand came to her mouth at this horrifying news. "Dead?" she breathed. "But . . . without it-"
Peter nodded, anguished. "Narnia will fall."
"What can we do? Peter, there has to be something!"
"We think there is and we're doing it. Su, you're not alone in peculiar things happening of late. Last week at Professor Kirke's we were at the table when we had a vision or visitation of some sort. We saw a young man – clearly of Telmarine stock – trussed to a post. He was in need of help, poor chap."
"He was Narnian?"
"His clothes and device were unmistakable. He was either the king or prince or some member of the royal family. The sight faded after a few moments, but we knew we'd been called and we put our heads together to devise a way to get back there and help."
"Peter, we can't go back! None of us! Alkonost said we can't go there, but they can come to us."
"We Pevensies can't go back," he agreed, "But Eustice and Jill can. They never got the word."
The implications sang out to Susan. She had little interaction with Jill Pole, but she had come to love her cranky young cousin. "How? Peter, how?"
"Remember the story Professor Kirke told us about his adventure with Jadis, when his crackpot uncle sent him off to dimensions unknown?"
"Andrew Ketterly. Yes, I remember." She realized, and gasped, "He sent them to a wood between the wor- the rings!"
"Exactly! Ed and I got them this morning."
"Peter! They're buried in someone's garden!"
"We pretended to be city workers checking the city drains. We were in and out before anyone noticed."
"Oh, this sounds like something Edmund How would devise! It's not enough he sits down to chess with Ettin lords or plunges underground chasing you, but now you've uprooted someone's poor vegetable patch. Really, Wolfsbane! And you wonder why I worry so. Where is Edmund now?"
Despite the gravity of the situation, Peter smiled to hear his and his brother's chivalric titles bandied about. "Returning the spades we needed, and our dirty work clothes. He's meeting me here and then we're going to join up with Lucy and the others and figure out our next step."
A thought stuck her with all the force of a kick. "Peter Michael George, are you telling me that you're walking around London with a pocket full of magical rings?"
He gestured with both hands. "Just the green ones for coming home. Ed has the yellow pair, though one snapped over the years." He gave her a helpless look, trying to win her approval. "Unless you know another way into Narnia, sister."
She paused, realizing. Peter's eyes were on her and in that instant, he knew she had an answer.
"Susan?"
"Peter, I may know a way. Or a means, or . . ." She shook her head and lifted both hands, opening her palm to show him the golden key. "This is what Dawn Treader led me to. I traded Grandmother's pearl ring to Alkonost for it."
Peter stared, speechless. Just as she had imagined, tears welled into his eyes at the sight of this tiny bit of Narnia, so beautiful and precious and far from home. "It's Narnian," he whispered, overawed.
"She said it was for a stable door, and the stable contained a kingdom. A world. It has to be Narnia. Take it. Peter, take it. You have to find the door. Or – or Eustace and Jill need to find it. I don't know if the door's here or in Narnia or between worlds, but take it. You need it. Narnia needs it."
Reverently, he took it from her palm. It was warm from her hold. Peter stared at it, then looked to her anxiously. "Come with us. Ed's meeting me here at -" He glanced at the elegant clock standing before the doors. "Oh, blin, I'm late. Susan, please. Come along. It should be a grand adventure."
She hesitated, sorely tempted, and then from the corner of her eye she spotted the woman in the emerald green coat. Glancing over, Susan saw her walking away from the station, deeper into the city. She watched until the speck of color was lost in the crowd, and she knew she had her answer. However much she might want to join him, it was not for her.
"No." She swallowed, collecting herself with effort. "No, Peter, you go. Mum and Dad will be on their way home and it will be better if I can distract them until you and Ed and Lucy return. I'll . . . I'll make sure everything is clean and away so you don't have to explain to Dad how you and Ed ended up digging ditches. Besides, I'm supposed to meet up with Roger."
He frowned. "Roger? Roger O'Day? Edmund's rugby friend?"
"No!" she exclaimed, letting him tease her as only a brother was allowed to do. Each of the Pevensie children had their designated Roger. There was Oxford Roger, RAF Roger, rugby Roger, and choir Roger. "My Roger. Roger North."
"The pilot," said Peter with a grin.
"Yes," she said, trying to be prim and proper to hide her excitement. "We have a date tomorrow."
"Can't have you miss that," he said, his smile growing. "He's a good man."
"I know," she said softly.
"You like him, don't you?" pressed Peter.
A little shyly, she smiled and admitted, "I do."
"Remember that phrase, sister."
That earned him a playful swat on the arm. "I want to hear every word of what happens, Peter. Everything. Tell Edmund and Lucy to remember every detail."
"Promise, so long as you tell us everything that brought you to this." He held up the gold key for a final reverent look before slipping it into his pocket. Then he gazed at her, overwhelmed with the rapid series of events that had brought them here, desperately wishing they had more time to catch up. "Are you sure, Susan?"
"I'm not entirely welcome there, Peter, and . . . and my place is here. I know it." Alkonost had just reminded her of the promise she had made to Aslan, after all.
"Your place is with us and Narnia."
"Yes." She rested her hand against his cheek, warmth to warmth. "High King Peter, we are Narnia."
He gathered both of her hands and pressed them to his lips, bowing over the connection. He looked up, and his devotion shone in his face. "May Aslan keep you in his paws, my Gentle Queen."
Susan felt a surge of love for this young man, and her reply was almost fierce as she offered her own benediction. "Walk with the Lion, O Emperor, King, and Sword."
Peter nodded, knowing she could not be swayed, and gave her one final, loving smile.
It was the last thing he would ever give her.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
"Am I the last bit of Narnia left in this world, Aslan?"
No, Daughter. I am here with you. I am always with you.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
It was autumn, a drear and rainy day where all the world seemed gray and unhappy and the sun set early. Susan sat at the train station beneath an awning, waiting for Roger to pick her up and ignoring the damp chill that penetrated to the bone. She had been staying with Alberta and Harold Scrubb in Cambridge for a week, doing what she could to help her aunt and uncle deal with the loss of their only child. It had been an exhausting visit, and it was difficult to gauge if she'd been any help to them. Alberta was not able to accept the future she had planned out for Eustace was now never to be, and there was a simmering anger in her that had no outlet. It had been sad and confounding to deal with a person who seemed disinclined to accept death, even now, almost a month after the funerals.
After so many funerals.
Susan sighed. All she wanted now was to have a hot meal, and take off her shoes, unpack her bag, and just be home for a little while, even if that home was empty now. She needed to sort through possessions and memories, decide what she would do with her family's home and car, decide what would her life be from here onwards. Ordinary was a thing of the past until she reworked the world. Again. Right now, she was simply numb, as much with cold as with exhaustion. Alberta had given her a few things, photographs, mostly, of her and Helen as little girls. Her aunt had also, with a hint of distaste, returned the Bible that Peter had given Eustace last year. That it had been her own father's Bible did not matter to Alberta, and Susan was glad to have it. Since she had traded her grandmother's ring for the gold key, it was some compensation to have her grandfather's Bible even if, at the moment, it meant more to her that Peter and Eustace had owned and treasured it.
A large car pulled close to the curb before her and she looked up as Roger hurried towards her, an umbrella in hand. After a quick greeting, he guided her to the front seat before collecting her suitcase. In moments he was driving the car through traffic.
"How is your aunt?" he asked carefully.
"She's . . . mourning in her own way. She doesn't want to accept what's happened. Uncle Harold seems to be dealing with it . . . well, not much better, but at least he's dealing with it. I think he was more interested in finding out what I intend to do with my inheritance. Honestly, it's astounding how many people suddenly know what's best for me and my estate. As if I haven't a shred of sense in my head."
Roger let out a little snort. "At least I know better. You must be hungry," he guessed, glancing at her, and Susan knew she looked wane and pale. "We could stop for a late tea or early dinner."
This was why she loved him so. He never tried to tell her what she should do, but offered suggestions and would not be offended by her decision. "I would like some dinner. Very much. Thank you, Roger. It has been . . . a hard week."
"I don't doubt it."
Within half an hour she was seated in a booth in a hotel restaurant, waiting for the bowl of consommé set before her to cool enough to eat. Possibly fearing she'd waste away before his eyes, Roger had hastily ordered food enough for twice their number, though he was, at least, mindful of her preferred dishes.
"Feeling better?" he asked halfway through the soup.
She was warm and dry and in the company she valued most. "Much," she said with a little smile.
He hesitated, his glass of water halfway to his lips, and then he returned the smile. Susan wondered at his reaction, and only then realized how long it had been since she wanted to smile.
"Thank you," she added sincerely.
He set the glass down. "Susan, this may not be the time with all that's happened and all, but . . ."
"Roger, dear, there are no good or bad times. There's just time."
"I have something for you, but it's the sort of thing a fellow can't give a girl without a bit of explanation or he runs the risk of his intent being taken the wrong way."
She took a moment to puzzle this statement through, playfully promising, "I'll do my best not to mistake your meaning."
"So, you remember that little jumble shop we passed that day we met Madge and Thomas for tea? The one where you saw the banner of the lion?"
She had gone back within the week, desperate to find Alkonost, only to find the shop was gone. The grocery was there, and the shabby tenement house, but the narrow little pawn shop was not. The two businesses stood side-by-side now, the Lucky Dragon no longer nestled between them. Devastated, she had wept, her hope for some final counsel from Aslan's prophet dashed. Without the key or any proof, it made her wonder if she had imagined the whole place and meeting, but her finger where Eleanor's pearl ring had rested was still bare and Peter's words and the feel of his warmth against her hand had been real.
"I do," she managed to say, setting her spoon down to mask her discomposure.
"Well, I went there the following evening after I left work. You seemed so taken with that banner that I thought it might make a fine birthday surprise for you if I could persuade the shop owner to part with it. Don't you know, there was a little old lady in the shop – a sharp old bird, very insightful, I felt, and sprightly as a wren. I tried to explain to her what it was about the banner that seemed to draw you, and it occurred to me you had mentioned dragons and lions just before we happened on this shop. The coincidence struck me and I'm not sure how it happened, I don't know if she was a good listener or good at asking just the right questions, but I found myself telling this old dame all about you, how wonderful you are and how gentle and kind and intelligent."
Alkonost was both, Susan knew, and wondered what the Bird of Joy had foretold for her dear Roger. "I'm blushing."
"I was merely stating facts," Roger defended. "We spent an hour or more talking like old friends and she was pouring us tea when I looked in the case before her and by Jove, I saw your ring – your grandmother's ring, I mean. I asked where it came from, and the old lady said a queen had traded it for the key to the kingdom. I had no notion what she meant by that and thought she might be teasing, but I kept asking and she kept answering and – I must have missed you by just an hour or two!"
He looked so astonished and boyish that Susan could not help but gaze at him with all the love in her heart. "I did go there. I met the same old lady. She seemed very wise." She swallowed. "And, yes. I traded Eleanor's ring for a chatelaine's gold key. It was very beautiful and finely made."
"It must have been. I know you set quite a store on that ring."
"I did. I do. But the key . . . it seemed to capture all the best aspects of the past."
Her distant tone and use of the past tense caught his attention. Roger reached across the table to lay his hand on hers, gently asking, "Do you have it, still?"
Susan shook her head, looking down as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. "No," she replied, her voice a whisper. "I gave it to Peter."
He said nothing, for there were no words for such a moment. Instead he passed her his handkerchief and held her hand as he waited for her emotions to recede. When a waiter would have taken the dishes away, Roger shook his head, unwilling to let anything interrupt her grief. Susan had told him about meeting Peter outside the train station not long before the railway disaster.
"I'm sorry to upset you."
She shook her head again, and gave him a sad little smile. "Don't be, Roger. And you haven't upset me. I have a great deal to mourn, and it will take time for me to work through it. But I will work through it, all the ups and downs, and come through at the end. And at least with Peter, I had a chance to say goodbye."
Roger blinked. "How is it you always find a bit of a silver lining for every bad thing that happens?" he asked in genuine admiration.
"It's always there if you look." She tightened her hold on his hand. "There's no great sorrow without a hint of joy, and no boundless joy without a shade of sorrow."
He nodded, used to these nuggets of wisdom and insight from her, and said, "I'll leave it to you to decide the degree of joy this generates, then." As he spoke, he reached into his suit coat and pulled a small envelope from his pocket and held it out to her. "Please. Open it."
Susan obeyed, carefully unsealing the envelope and looking inside. She let out a little gasp when she saw Eleanor's pearl and diamond ring nestled in the fold of paper. The moon and stars and sun. Roger had brought them back to her. She slipped the ring on her finger, thrilled to see it back where it belonged.
"Roger, I might just cry again," she declared. "I am . . . so happy. Thank you. Thank you."
He smiled, her response everything he could have hoped. "Our mutual friend in the shop would not let me buy it back for you. She gave it to me to return instead. She said this was not the ring that I should go and buy for you, and I must say, Susan, that I heartily agreed with her."
Susan met his eye, recognizing he was seeking permission to ask her something greater and deeper. A promise she wanted and needed. Winging silent thanks to the Bird of Joy, she smiled as she said, "So do I."
-fin-