Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia, any of its merchandise and have absolutely nothing to do with the movie franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. All rights belong to the wonderful C.S. Lewis, Walden Media, and Walt Disney motion pictures. I only own this plot, and a few battered old copies of the books.

AN: It's been too long… but in all honesty this chapter has been the hardest to write so far, and probably the hardest in the whole story. It came out way longer than I anticipated, counting in at 6,112 words (only the chapter, nothing else) and not exactly how I imagined it would be… but I hope you guys enjoy it. Tissue warning at the end, you guys—beware.

Song recommendation for this chapter is Holding On and Letting Go by Ross Copperman, which inspired the title for this story.

10. Giving In

Peter woke with a start and bolted from his bed. He sat up ramrod straight, his breathing heavy and labored. He was terrified and shaken; the dream—or rather, nightmare—had been awful, probably the worst he'd ever had. He sat still and shivering in the dark room, engulfed by the unrelenting blackness that threatened to drag him back to sleep. He had no will of going back to sleep; he was sure if he would go back to sleep his "dream" would only continue, and he'd be scarred for life by it.

So, as quietly as possible, Peter lifted his covers and put his feet on the bare wooden floor. He crept out of his room and down the stairs as silently as possible, taking care of the unoiled door of his room, cringing when one step creaked loudly. He paused on the stairs for a moment, and when all remained silent, he continued.

A dim yellow light shone in the kitchen. Upon looking around, he discovered the source of the light was the lamp hanging above the kitchen island.

A cold breeze blew through the room. Peter wrapped his robe tightly around himself, and watched as the lamp swayed slowly from side to side, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

It was a strange thing, those shadows. They were shadows of pots and pans hung from hooks on the walls and cabinets, along with an assortment of metal and wooden spoons and other cooking utensils. The shadows crossed and overlapped, creating strange shapes and images. The deep yellow of the light cast from the lamp colored the walls a sandy-brown color, which made the whole room seem more ancient than it really was.

The lighting along with the shadows reminded Peter of the dwarves during the festivities of Winter Solstice. They always hid away, far away in the wildest and thickest woods of Narnia. They hid well, and were hard to find, but Peter had chanced a glance at them once on a journey to the north. Three troops from his regiment had left to scout the area with him. The sight they encountered will forever be etched into Peter's memory. In the middle of thick brushes and ancient trees was a clearing, which the soldiers probably would not have noticed lest the glow from a fire had turned their attention to it. The fire was so tall it reached the top of the smaller oak trees. It was so large and wide that it took up most of the clearing; even from their hiding spot, the soldiers and their king could feel the heat of the fire heat their faces and dry their skin. The fire's heat was so strong, that whereas the rest of Narnia was covered in a thick blanket of snow, this clearing was not,

The creatures dancing around the fire had features that resembled those of humans, but they were too short and coarse to be those. Clearly, they were dwarves. The dwarves wore heavy fur coats and cloaks. They danced around the fire in a large circle, playing strange instruments, and chanting prayers and songs in a foreign tongue that Peter could not understand. The language sounded angry, frightening, and the repetitive chanting chilled Peter to his bones. There was something beastly about the dwarves' appearance and something surreal and frighteningly dark about the whole scene.

Though a lifetime and a world away, Peter could not help but be reminded of that haunting scene when he saw the eerily cast shadows on the walls of his home's kitchen.

It was another gust of frosty air that brought Peter's wandering mind back to the present. He looked around the kitchen, and was shocked to discover the kitchen door leading outside stood ajar. It was immensely irresponsible of whoever had left the door open to do so. It proved a dangerous opportunity for thieves to enter the house, or other persons with ill wishes, but also let the cold into the already hard-to-heat house. Not to mention Lucy's pet cat could easily step out into the cold night and never return, or worse—freeze to death in the yard, only to be found so the next morning.

Peter walked over to the door and was just about to close it when the strangest sight caught his eyes. The ground outside was white with fallen snow, but he could swear he'd seen something move amongst the black and white shadows. Something… almost like a billowing fabric in the wind. He opened the door wider and stepped out to their small yard.

Between the gray clouds, a half-crescent moon shone its silvery light. That light shone down onto the small yard when the wind blew the clouds. The snow had stopped falling, but left behind a thick, pristine white blanket that covered all. In the midst of the yard stood the figure that first caught Peter's attention. It was a person; though it was so pale Peter believed it to be a specter at first. The long hair indicated it was a woman. It lay on her back limply, bared down by its length, reaching her hips. She wore a thin, white nightgown, which billowed slightly around her slender body. When the moon shone through the clouds it illuminated exactly how skinny this woman really was, highlighting the angles of her slightly protruding hipbones and ribs. It made the nightgown nearly see-through, but not quite, meaning Peter could see exactly how terribly slender her arms and legs also were. It was a ghastly image. A chill went down Peter's spine.

"I'm so glad it snowed tonight." The woman spoke in a calm, regal voice.

The soft voice was all too familiar and Peter lurched forward, running as best as he could to stand in front of the woman. His fear was confirmed. It was indeed Susan standing there, smaller and weaker than he'd witnessed her before, yet exuding a regality which he had rarely seen before, even in their days in Narnia.

"Jesus, Susan!" Peter immediately pulled off his thick winter robe and put it on her shoulders, covering her as best as he could. "You must be dreaming again, sister. Come inside, I'll take you back to your bed."

"I'm not dreaming… but I don't feel awake either."

Peter glanced at her worriedly.

Susan turned to look at him straight in the eye. Gray-blue eyes met light blue ones. "Stay with me, Peter. Let me stay a little while longer. I want to enjoy this night as much as I can." She inhaled deeply and let the air out with a soft smile playing on her lips. "Can't you feel it? I can almost smell it in the air. There's magic here tonight; it lingers in the snow and in the light of the moon."

Peter looked around again, and he couldn't help but agree with her. This night had a mystical air about it. Some unseen forces were laying out their plans and putting them into action, releasing magic into the dead of night. It was this magic that caused Susan to appear so magnificent despite the disfiguration of her body. It was this magic that had caused the young king to have that particular nightmare on that particular night. It was also the only evidence of The Great Lion's visit; his paw-prints did not mar the virginal snow.

"I feel it," Peter confessed.

A long silence fell between them.

"He came to me, you know," Susan spoke softly, laying her head on Peter's shoulder. "He came in a dream at first. He was standing in a dark wood, on a night much like this, and he was talking to me. He said my time has almost come."

"Who is this 'he' you are speaking of?" Peter looked at her in confusion.

Susan raised her eyebrows when she looked to him. "Why Aslan, of course. He came to me in a dream and spoke to me. He told me to come out here. I was awake as I snuck out and down the stairs. He met me here. We spoke and he warmed me up."

Peter was shocked to hear such words spill from Susan's mouth. She hadn't spoken of Narnia since the two of them had last left it, and certainly not since Lucy and Edmund returned from their latest trip. For over a year, Susan had not uttered a word about the world that had once been their beloved home, sometimes even going as far as ignoring all talk of the subject, or even denying Narnia's existence all together. What had changed that caused her to suddenly speak of the heart of their land, the very creator of Narnia and its world?

Peter feared her mind had succumbed to her illness, and these were the figments of her deranged mind. He wanted to believe his sister, but found it hard. Everything that had happened so far was so surreal Peter wondered if he wasn't still dreaming himself.

But and old memory materialized in the back of his mind. Before leaving Narnia, Aslan had told them that he would never leave them. He said he was in their world as well, even if he bore a different name and form there. That little fact restored his belief that maybe Susan was telling the truth after all, and that the Great Lion had indeed visited her in their home in Finchley.

"He visited me once before, on the boat on our way back to America. At first he appeared as a young man to test if my allegiance to Narnia remained, and if I still believed in him and that world and magic. He came to me in a dream later and explained all this." Susan's speech faltered. She took a deep breath. "He said I could go back to Narnia, but it would cost a heavy price. He said I would know when I have decided, and that I would know when the time to leave will come." She looked up at Peter with eyes so blazingly honest it hurt. "I think the time is coming."

Peter felt bewildered. Why would his sister be allowed to go back to Narnia when the rest of them had been locked out of their haven for the foreseeable future? How was this gentle, fragile soul any more worthy than any of them? They were all kings and queens of Narnia, they were all deemed worthy of ruling and had proved themselves great and devoted monarchs to their beloved country. Was it possible Aslan favored Susan over the rest of them? Why would he, especially when Susan had abandoned her belief?

Susan turned to face peter and hugged him tightly. Her hands were frail and boney against his strong torso, and he was violently reminded of how sick Susan truly was. Abandoning any thoughts of Narnia for a time, and letting go of the bit of jealousy he felt towards her, Peter wrapped his arms around Susan and hugged her as tightly as he possibly could. He kissed the top of her head gingerly.

"Let's go inside, you'll catch a chill standing like that in such freezing weather."

Susan's head was nestled against his chest, and he could just feel the nod of it.

"Alright. Come." He left one arm around her shoulders and held her other hand with his, leading her to the still open kitchen door as if she were a lost and scared child. He led her through the kitchen where he turned off the light, up the stairs and to her room. When they stood before her bed, Susan reached one hand out and caressed his cheek, along his jaw.

"Would you stay with me Peter?" It was apparent from her voice she was unsure of herself; her voice was but a mere whisper, and shook. "Would you stay with me and keep me safe, just like all those years ago when we were young in Narnia?"

Peter felt guilt wash him. He feared sleeping with her would be too awkward, especially if when morning came their parents would find them. Susan was right, many a night back in Narnia were spent with her sleeping in his bed or him sleeping in hers, simply for the comfort of a sibling, in that land where they did not have the luxury of the comfort of a parent. When nightmares plagued them they would flee to the other's bed, where a warm and ensuring embrace awaited them. A feeling of longing washed over him. He missed those nights, he missed the closeness he and Susan had shared, and he missed the person she was then—the same one who seemed to stand before him now, though she hadn't in what felt like a lifetime.

Peter glanced over to the second bed in the room, the one occupied by their youngest sister. Lucy would not mind him spending the night in her and Susan's room; she was used to him and Susan seeking a night of comfort in each other's arms from Narnia. Besides, she too had been comforted and held in her elder siblings' arms for a night when she was younger, and not only in Narnia.

Peter nodded, and that was all the consent Susan needed. She removed Peter's robe, hanging it neatly on a hook on the wall, and then lifted the covers of her bed carefully and climbed under them. Peter followed in her steps, but was careful not to jostle her too much, as he was fearful of hurting her due to her newfound frailty. Both of their slippers were left at the foot of her bed, though their thick wool socks remained on their feet. Peter wound his arm around her slender body and held her close, warming her up and comforting her, as they had so many times so long ago.

They slept.

~~000~~

When Peter woke the next morning he felt the bed he was in was too hot. It was strange, since he remembered snow falling the night before, and the brisk, frigid wind biting at him and Susan as they stood outside at a most ungodly hour.

Susan.

He looked to the young woman lying in the bed beside him. Her jaw was taught and she was shivering ever so slightly. Dread filled his core as he realized she must be the one emitting the heat. His fear was confirmed when he put a hand on her forehead, and found it to be sweltering hot.

The light that shone through the light curtain was the light gray one of early dawn, dimmed by the heavy clouds of snow outside. The early hour did nothing to deter Peter. He shook Lucy awake and commanded she stay watch over Susan until he got their parents. Them he walked hurriedly to the closed door of their parents' room, rapping on it until his father opened the door. The man wore an angry expression, he had, after all, been awoken at the crack of dawn.

"It's Susan, she's sick. She's burning with fever," Peter explained ardently.

Mr. Pevensie's expression changed immediately. The anger was wiped clean off his face and replaced with deep concern. He turned from the door and spoke a few words to his wife, who still sat in their bed. At his words she bolted from the bed, and the two grabbed their robes and rushed to the girls' room, right past Peter. He followed them.

He would never forget the tears that slipped from his mother's eyes as her aged hand caressed Susan's face and found it to be as hot as Peter said it was. He would never forget how she kissed Susan's forehead, and the girl's eyes fluttered open. She gave her mother a soft, yet content smile. He would never forget the anxiety etched into his father's face as he walked away, down the stairs to the kitchen where they kept their phone. When he returned, both parents sat with Susan and cradled their child. Peter excused himself from the room and took Lucy with him back to his room, where the two sat in silence.

~~000~~

The doctor showed up only in the afternoon. Susan had remained in her bed. She'd claimed to be freezing that morning, and was consequently covered with as many blankets as could be found to warm her up. Later on she started sweating and felt hot, so some blankets were removed. She bathed in warm water at the suggestion of their mum to try and quell the fever, and did so herself. While their sister's new illness worried Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, they couldn't help but be shocked by how much more responsive she suddenly was. Though she slept most of the day, when she was awake she constantly requested company, and spoke to whoever was with her. She bathed by herself, without anyone's help. She ate the entire bowl of soup their mother brought for her to lunch, and ate all the vegetables in it. There was a strange new liveliness to Susan, one that stupefied them all considering it accompanied her new illness.

When the doctor came that afternoon an anxious silence enveloped the house. The siblings sat together in the library, where the fire in the hearth was lit, while both parents were with Susan as the doctor inspected her behind the closed door of her bedroom.

None of the Pevensie kids knew what to make of this change in Susan. They found it hard to believe that truly being sick could better their sister so much, but they could think of no other explanation. Peter did not speak to Edmund or Lucy of the strange talk he had with Susan the previous night, since he was afraid of their reactions, or the conclusions they would or could come to. He'd told his parents an edited version of the previous night's ordeal so they'd be able to explain it to the doctor. Besides, he felt the long stay in the frigid night air was what had caused the spike in Susan's fever.

When the doctor finished his exam, he stepped out of Susan's room and stood in the upstairs corridor with the Pevensie parents. His voice carried down the stairs, and Peter, Lucy and Edmund listened intently.

The doctor was as baffled by the change in Susan as the Pevensies. He admitted to be confused by this change, but also alerted them to the fact that Susan's breathing was heavy and labored. "She must be in the early stages of pneumonia," he concluded, and left with them the medicine to give Susan. "Due to her malnourished and weakened state, I fear this sort of illness may be harder on her than if she was healthy to begin with. However, if she continues to show such vitality and makes an effort to fight the disease, I believe she has a good chance of beating it and making a full recovery."

With that, he bid them goodbye politely and left.

Susan heard all the doctor had said. She knew he was right, she could feel the heaviness in her lungs, though it hadn't affected her breathing much. The doctor's diagnosis proved itself correct in the evening, when she began to feel a nagging itch in her throat and coughed. She ate her entire dinner dutifully and later watched with sorrowful eyes as Lucy was made to move her beddings to the guest room so she wouldn't become sick too. She smiled when she heard Lucy convince her parents to sleep in the boys' room instead, and watched with amusement as Peter and Edmund removed the mattress from Lucy's bed and took it to their room.

She found herself very frustrated when she woke in the middle of the night, coughing violently and struggling for breath. It was scary to not be able to draw breath at will, and feel the burning heaviness of her lungs. She coughed for several minutes before finally regaining her ability to breathe. It took her some time, but she was thankful that eventually she fell back to sleep.

The next morning was not much better. Her fever was still high, and her coughing fits got worse and came more often, but she tried to remain positive and strong. She ate as much as she could and drank large amounts of water, she took her medicine dutifully, and slept when she needed, since the doctor told her it was easier for the body to fight diseases when resting. When she was allowed to sit with one of her siblings she did, and she enjoyed that time with them more than anything. She asked Lucy and Edmund to tell her of their adventures on their last trip to Narnia. She was delighted to see the excitement on their faces as they spoke, and was secretly thrilled to hear so much of Caspian.

She had no doubt that something about her conversation with Aslan had replenished her strength, and given her new hope. He told her that the time to leave for Narnia was soon, and she was excited at the thought of it. "There will only be one more obstacle for you to surpass before you leave," Aslan told her. She believed he was talking of this illness of hers. Darn pneumonia, it delayed her departure to Narnia—surely, this was the obstacle Aslan had spoken of. She could not be sent to Narnia sick, so she had to become better and regain some of her old self.

As the days passed, Susan realized overcoming this illness would not be as easy as she first believed it would be. She had not realized how much her body had changed, how much skinnier and more sickly she'd become. Her body was no longer the capable body of the strong Archer Queen, but that of a malnourished and fatigued young woman. It was harder to fend off the sickness in this body; it was not as strong and could not fight the infection as well. But fight she did.

Since her sleeping schedule was amess, she was not certain how long she'd been ill when things took a turn for the worse. She shivered violently, chilled to the bone by the fever. Every cough wracked through her body and caused her to bend over and convulse. Her lungs felt heavier than ever, and her throat burned from the burning of coughing so violently. The extreme effort of it caused her whole body to ache excruciatingly. She could barely swallow, but tried to at least swallow her medicine, some soup, and water when her mother offered it.

That night she felt all her strength exude from her. She felt it leaving her through her pores. She could feel her body grow limp as she gave in to unconsciousness.

Helen and Lucy did not leave Susan's side that entire night. Her fever was dangerously higher, higher than it had been in her last five days of illness. She was delirious with fever, and occasionally muttered nonsensically. Both were well practiced, Helen from years of mothering and taking care of her children and those of neighbors and friends, and Lucy from years of being a healer and practicing medicine in Narnia. They lay cold, wet rags on Susan's head and extremities while keeping her core and chest warm. They changed the rags whenever they got warm—or cold—and drenched them again in water of the correct temperature, only to repeat the whole process. Susan coughed violently all throughout the night, and had even vomited several times. She was fully awake on those occasions, so Lucy and Mrs. Pevensie took the chance to bathe her, hoping it would further help with lowering her fever.

Snow fell that night once again, accompanied by harsh winds that made the house creak and the glasses if the windows shudder. The storm outside reflected perfectly the storm inside the women's hearts as they fought for their daughter and sister's life.

As morning came the winds ceased and the snow longer fell. The sky could be seen, they were a bright hue of light blue, and the sun shone vibrantly in them. Susan's fever had broken, and though her breathing was harsh and ragged, she slept contently. Both women sighed in relief and retired to their beds to rest after that night of horrors.

~~000~~

Susan woke in the late morning. She did not feel burning hot nor freezing as she had before, but it was harder to breathe than it had been before. She ached, a bone-deep ache that was reminiscent of the ache that accompanied deep fatigue, but was much stronger and more excruciating.

She sat and gazed out of her bedroom window. She thought of their first trip to Narnia, how everything had been as cold and white as the scene that lay outside her window. She reminisced about the Golden Age and their many years of content ruling over Narnia. She pondered the fact that she never found a suiter to marry and continue her line when she was supposed to, but found a man she loved in her next visit, thirteen hundred years later. She thought of her adventures in Narnia with her siblings, and the adventure they had with Caspian. Her lips tingled as she remembered the feeling of his lips on hers in the one kiss they'd shared, a searing, passionate goodbye kiss.

It was then that she suddenly realized she misunderstood Aslan completely. He said if she returned to Narnia this time she would never be able return to England. She would never return to her world and her family. It seemed so… final.

The realization of what she must do hurt like a knife stabbing her heart. How could she have been so stupid to not have seen it before? It was something she had already thought of… but it was so great, so terrible, she hadn't even considered it.

When they were in Narnia, they couldn't also be in their world at the same time. Because she has grown too mature for Narnia, she could not live a life there and return home when she 'finished'. In order to live in one world, she must give up her life in the other. Completely.

Her heart broke when she realized this. In order to live in Narnia, she had to die.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as comprehension sank in. Aslan knew how desperately she wanted to return to Narnia—and apparently knew that she was willing to risk everything, even risk losing her family, those she loved most—to have a chance at living a life with the man she loved in the country she loved most. He had led her out to the snow on purpose, he did not berate her strongly for her unhealthy behavior on the boat, and he completely ignored the fact that for over a year, she had tried to push Narnia completely out of her heart. He knew she would give in. He knew what her choice would be, and she didn't know if to feel foolish or enraged that she didn't realize all this before.

She could feel the agonizing pain all over her body, and the acute burning of her lungs which grew impossibly stronger with each haggard breath. She knew suddenly, that it was no longer her choice. Her mind had subconsciously made this decision weeks ago, and now there was nothing she could do against it. Susan was dying and she knew it.

The door opened, and Edmund stepped inside.

"Hi," he greeted cautiously.

"Hi," Susan whispered back, her voice breaking.

"I'm so glad you pulled through the night, Su. Peter and I could barely sleep we were so anxious. When Lucy came in crying this morning for a moment I thought we'd lost you." His voice broke. "I don't know what I would do if we lost you."

Susan's breath caught in her throat, and she felt tears choking her. "You would make it through, Ed, if you lose me." She took a breath as deep as she could. "You are so strong, probably stronger than us all. You would pull through and you will learn to live without me."

"Su… don't speak like that. We won't lose you. You're fighting, and we are helping you fight. You will fight until you win. It's just a little sickness; you've beaten so much worse than this in Narnia. You'll get through; you'll get better."

Susan looked at Edmund with sorrowful eyes. "You always were my strongest believer."

Both of them cracked a smile at the memories of countless meetings with counselors, introductions to potential suitors, and plain mundane experiences both in Narnia and in England when Edmund had stood by Susan firmly, supporting her opinion and decisions.

There was a light knock on the door. Edmund called the knocker to come in.

The door opened to expose Lucy, standing there nervously with a tray in her hands. There were four bowls on the tray. Behind her stood Peter holding another tray, one with a few slices of bread on it, a teapot, and tea cups.

"Mother said we could eat lunch up here with you if you were well enough and willing."

Susan smiled kindly at Lucy. "I'd be happy to have some company." She dimly remembered the night before, and with Edmund's confession realized Lucy had been by her side all night long, tending to her and working to lower her fever. She admired her sister greatly for her skills in medicine, and was grateful for all she had done to ease her.

Lucy stepped into the room, stepping carefully, and set the tray on a small table their father brought in a few days ago so Helen and Lucy could make use of it if needed. Last night bowls and pots of water and a pile of rags were on the table, but their mother cleared it all away when she left Susan's bedside at daybreak.

Peter followed her example and did the same.

Susan sat up in her bed to eat, Lucy sat at the foot of the bed, Edmund remained in the chair he sat in, and Peter brought in an armchair from the corridor.

They ate in silence mostly, but it was a comfortable one. Occasionally someone would tell a story or a joke and they would all laugh. The atmosphere was lighthearted.

Yet Susan could feel her heart beating faster than usual, and her chest growing tighter and more painful. She had trouble swallowing and was not very hungry, so she only drank a small amount of soup.

She felt the pain increasing and her strength slowly vanishing. She glanced outside and glanced contently. It was a good day to go.

"I'm so glad you are doing better, Susan. I was so afraid we would lose you," Lucy confessed when lunch was done and the boys took the trays back to the kitchen. A lone tear rolled down from her eye. "I don't know what I'd do if-if-" she was unable to finish the sentence, it was such an atrocious concept to her. "I just… I love you so much Su." With that she fell on her sister's neck and held her tightly.

Susan held her just as tightly. "I love you so much too, Lucy. You have no idea how much I love you." She took a staggering breath. "I will always love you. No matter where I am, or how long we've been apart, you will always be my sister, and I will always love you Lu."

"Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?" Lucy's voice was muffled by Susan's chest, where her head lay.

Susan did not answer.

"Su?" After a long silence Peter's voice interrupted them, "can I talk to you?"

Susan nodded and released her hold on Lucy. She put both palms on her younger sister's cheeks and looked her straight in the eyes. "I love you so so much, darling sister, you remember that." She finished speaking and kissed Lucy's head.

"I love you so much too," Lucy whispered and hugged Susan tightly again. She released her after a few moments and walked out of the room.

Susan sighed heavily and sank back into her pillows and covers.

Peter closed the door behind him and sat in the chair closest to her, right beside the head of the bed.

"That sounded like a goodbye."

Susan frowned. "Can't I tell my sister I love her?"

"You know what I mean." Peter's tone was slightly berating.

"I do," she confessed in defeat.

"I just… I can't fight anymore." She breathed as deeply as she could but felt like she was being choked instead. "I can feel all my strength creeping away and leaving me. And I'm so tired, Peter. I'm just so, so tired."

Peter's heat sank. He heard similar words before, long ago. They were the words of dying soldiers, and mortally wounded men. They were the words of those who asked Lucy not to use her cordial, because a drop on their lips would be useless anyway. How he wished they could have that cordial here, and that it would work and heal Susan.

"You are strong, dear sister, you are the Warrior Queen, queen of Narnia. You have fought battles and demons before; will you not fight this illness for us?"

There was a long stretch of silence as both just cried, silent, agonized tears.

"You are the best brother, partner, and king I could have ever asked for. I love you."

"My Gentle Queen, my dearest Su, you are the best companion I could have asked for. You are the kindest soul I know, and you are the best sister I could have asked for. And you are a marvelous queen… Please don't give up. Please don't die."

Susan's breath caught in her throat once again. She could barely breathe now. Her heart beat too fast in her chest, her lungs were too heavy, and she was chilled by weakness, and impending death.

"I am so sorry," she choked.

Peter grabbed her and hugged her fiercely, as if he never had before, and never will again. He was losing her, he realized, and he grieved over that fact. He refused to believe his beautiful, lovely little sister who was sometimes a mother to them all could be gone. He refused to believe she could be taken from them at such a young age.

Susan hugged him back with all of her remaining strength. She loved Peter fiercely. He was the best older brother she could have asked for. He was her confidante and closest advisor. He was better than any husband or consort she could have asked to rule alongside during the Golden Age in Narnia, and was the best support she could have asked for when she yearned for a partner and husband, but could not find one. Peter was the storm by nature, but the eye of it whenever she needed him. Where she had been their younger siblings' and Narnia's mother, Peter was their father. She was eternally grateful for that. The pain of their separation almost made leaving now for Narnia not worth the effort, but she knew in her heart she would live to see Peter, Edmund, and Lucy again, and win the love she so desired. She felt death creep up on her, and knew fighting it now would be hopeless.

So two cried and hugged. Peter kissed Susan as she had Lucy, and they held each other some more.

"I love you Susan; we all do," Peter assured her.

Susan nodded and smiled as best as she could. "I love you all too."

There was a strange knocking on the window, so Peter got up to investigate it. He opened the window wide, peering outside. A gust of chilly wing blew in, so Peter hurried to close it, for Susan's benefit. But when the window was shut and he turned to her, she lay still. Her eyes were closed, and her body limp, no longer struggling with every breath she drew. Her ebony hair cascaded around her ivory face, now as white as the blanket of fresh snow outside.

Peter fell to his knees at her bedside and took her hands in his, crying, and murmuring words of denial. He kissed her hands and squeezed them, but she was gone.

On a freezing winter afternoon, Susan Pevensie drew her last breath on Earth.

AN: *hides behind Peter's shield* Trust me, it hurt me to write this probably as much as it hurts to read. This is the end of the first part of the story, Giving In.

This chapter is dedicated to my uncle, who will teach me how to let go much sooner than I ever wish to learn. I love you.

Please leave your comments bellow.