The Walker of Worlds

Part I: The Breaking

Disclaimer: I have borrowed from many stories, many creators, and I take the things they created with careful, not greedy hands.

Chapter One: It's Only a Party

"I am sorry there is so much pain in this story. I'm sorry it's in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it.
I've tried to put some of the good things in as well.
Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?"
~ Margaret Atwood

Disclaimer: This world belongs to Lewis, and England belongs to many. I have no share in it but what is given to any imagination.
Beta'd by trustingHim17, with my thanks.

The open door was not an invitation.

Susan had made that quite clear. If her door was closed, she was out; if it was slightly ajar, her siblings could knock; if it was completely open, and they could see Susan making her bed with its flower-patterned blanket or sitting in front of the white vanity, it was open because Susan was listening for a knock on the front door. She did not wish to be disturbed.

So it was with quiet pleasure that Susan, brushing her hair into the appropriate waves, glimpsed a mirrored Lucy pause outside the door.

Checking the sun outside the window, Susan thought she had at least half an hour before Robert and Nancy showed up.

"Are you coming tonight?" she asked, deliberately putting a merry laugh in the invitation. She knew Lucy would not come—at least, it wasn't likely—but it had been seven mont—

A long time, since the two of them had enjoyed a good time together.

Lucy stepped inside the door, one hand behind her back, blue eyes meeting Susan's in the mirror. "Where are you going?"

"Carl's. It's only two streets over, and it's not likely to be a big party, since the boys have class in the morning. Do come," she coaxed, setting the brush down as Lucy moved forward. It had been a while since she'd heard her sister laugh, at least with Susan in the same room.

"I thought to prepare for Peter's arrival tonight." Lucy hesitated, eyes going to the door and then back to Susan's in the mirror.

"You can do that anytime tomorrow; he isn't supposed to get here till evening. And do stop that funny way of talking, Lu. It sounds less quaint now that you're growing up. A party would do you good."

"Are they going to serve alcohol there?" came Edmund's voice, his words clipped. He appeared in the mirror right beside Lucy. Susan picked up her brush and began to brush again, deliberately careless.

"I suppose so. We're all adults, after all."

"Lucy isn't." Edmund's arm came up around Lucy's shoulders, reassuring—protecting. As if Susan was a danger to guard against.

How dare he. Susan threw her brush down. All she had wanted was Lucy's company; to be with her little sister for a while; instead she got accusations! "I wouldn't let her drink any! I've never done anything like that!"

"Even after you've had a few—"

"Edmund." Lucy's one word, half warning and half appeal, stopped Edmund a word too late. Susan turned, meeting her brother's eyes.

"I have never been drunk," she reminded him levelly. It cost her; that even tone took every remnant of her self-control. She knew they judged her, knew it by their cautious words, the way they stepped in front of each other, cut each other off, reminded each other.

And now they hold even actions I have not committed over my head!

"Not that you remember," Edmund answered, but his tone was softer.

Susan's cheeks turned hot anyway. "That was not my fault."

Edmund sighed, dark eyes turning away. Susan kept her victorious smile inside, or thought she did. But Lucy's eyes grew sad when Susan glanced at her, and Susan was reminded how well her siblings knew her.

Or how well they could read her. Knowing her was a different matter.

"That was not your fault," Edmund agreed, bringing Susan's attention back to him. He looked from the wall, with its various dresses hanging along it (Susan thought they did well as decorations), back to his sister, dressed up and ready to go out. "But perhaps you understand why we don't think it's a good idea to put Lucy in the way of meeting people like that?"

"It's just a small party."

"So was the one where those two fool-faced asses deliberately got you drunk."

"I wouldn't let anyone like that near Lucy!"

Edmund's eyes held hers, with that look Susan was slowly learning to hate. She told herself she did not care, but that look, as if he weighed her soul — what right had he to do that? He weighed her by his standards. And then spoke his judgments over her, the elder sister. Like now—"No, you wouldn't. I believe that." He paused, and Susan waited, guarding herself from the blow she knew would follow that. "Why can't you take the same care for yourself?"

Oh. The soft request left her speechless; she had forgotten how often mercy shone through her brother's condemnation; this brother, anyway. Still…it was a little annoying.

"I do," she said, after a moment had passed. "I've learned to know those types of men. I don't let them near me anymore." That look, again—but it rankled less, because she could see he believed her. "I won't let them near Lucy either. I thought it would do you good," she added, looking back to Lucy. "It's only a party."

A knock, a loud one, sounded downstairs; it must be Robert knocking, not Nancy. Lucy shook her head, stepping even closer. "I haven't time to get ready; I'd make you late. But here, I gathered these for you." She held out what she'd been keeping behind her. Her hands clasped a bouquet of glorious white flowers; dainty, dancing things, tied with a deep green ribbon.

"Why, where did you get these? It's barely spring!"

"Mrs. Robertson's backyard. I was helping her turn it into a vegetable garden today, to help feed the family now that she's up and about again after her new baby, and she called these weeds. But I thought they were pretty, like the Narnian Stars."

Susan took in another breath of the flowers' scent, refusing to look up into Lucy's eyes, at the hope she knew would be there. "They're beautiful." She meant it to sound grateful, but she knew it didn't.

Another knock on the door saved her. (The bitterness of being saved from her family was still difficult to swallow, no matter how many times it happened.) She got up, the flowers in her hand. "I must be going. If Peter comes home early, give him my love." A word she tossed to all of her siblings, her parents, because she'd grown up saying it. These days it felt like restrictions and unmet expectations, never anything… worthwhile. She never used it with her friends.

"We will," Edmund said pleasantly, that arm back around Lucy's shoulders. Susan refused to consider what that meant. She rushed down the stairs and towards the door as the third knock sounded, pausing at the bottom as she realised she'd forgotten to put in earrings. Too late now. She opened the door, smiling at Robert, feeling something ease as she looked up into that tall, handsome face. Robert was Nancy's, and everyone knew it, but he always looked at her like her beauty shone like a Star's—like the stars, and he didn't mind flirting a bit, as Nancy didn't care. He'd offer Susan a drink and demand a kiss for it—in a joking tone, of course. Like the tone he had now.

"I was afraid you weren't coming! It would have been a lot duller without you," he said as he opened the motorcar door for her. Inside sat Nancy, her red lips smiling at Susan as Susan ducked down.

"Oh, it's just the night for a party. Thank you for picking me up."

"It's just perfect, isn't it?" Nancy agreed, patting her brown hair. "Why, Susan, what lovely flowers. The older generation always says it's nice to bring back old traditions for a night, don't they? And if you're trying to please them—though the flowers will definitely be in the way when you're dancing. But don't worry, we'll keep all the tongues still of the others."

Susan looked down at the flowers laying on her lap, bright against the red fabric. She'd seen ones like them, with sharper-shaped petals, dotting tall green grass like tiny petals of paper, on the grave of old kings—where had that been? Abruptly she registered what Nancy had said, and laughed lightly. "Oh, these? My sister got them for me. She'd been helping out a new mother, or something. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. But they don't go with the dress or make-up at all, do they?" Nancy smiled, sharing the joke, for she had two little sisters of her own, though they worshipped Nancy in a way Lucy didn't. Susan tossed the flowers into the street. A little kid was sure to find them and love them, and they were far enough away it couldn't hurt Lucy's feelings. Susan loved flowers, but they were old-fashioned, always occuring, things that faded quickly. They came from Susan's old interests, and those didn't mix well with her new ones.

The party was perfect, just the right mix of music, food, and laughter. Susan danced with feet that skipped and a skirt that twirled. She was asked to dance every dance, and there was always someone to wait on her, to go get food, a drink, or a seat by a window. Each smile Susan gave out was met with one in return, each of her laughs made other faces brighter, and she felt so welcome. It was a good world, one where everyone liked her. She left late, floating over the ground. She would walk home, it wasn't far; and Robert had perhaps had a bit much to drink, for he was snoring in a chair and wouldn't be up till morning. He'd spilled some of the drink on her skirt, too, but Susan hadn't mentioned it, because he had brought her here. She'd had a lovely time.

She ducked between the Jones' and the Turners' houses, slipping past them with steps as light as—

A sudden image of fanciful creatures, half goat, half man, with pipes between their lips, stopped her cold. They'd stepped heavily on the grass, but lightly in the snow. She knew it, knew it as she knew Peter liked coffee strong enough to wake the most exhausted soldier. How did she know it? Where—

No. No, that hadn't been real, it couldn't be. Those were creatures of myth. Susan glanced at the house to her right, a solid, unmoving wall rising up to a second story. That was real. The memory had just been her imagination bringing to mind the images of their childhood conversations and games—Lucy did that, Susan thought, fingers clenching. I invited her to the party and she not only said no, she brought flowers, silly little things, mentioning Narnian Stars and these childish games again. I am done with them, done with the games. This world is more than enough for me. If only Lucy were smart enough to come enjoy it!

She took a breath, slipped out from between the houses, and walked, head high, straight across the street and towards her own house.

She opened the door quietly—she had no wish to wake her parents and hear all about it the next morning—and made her way up to her room with feet as quiet as a cat's, going around the creaking step. But as she opened her own door she frowned, for there was light—that was not unusual, someone usually left a candle burning for her—and something odd on her vanity.

Beside the candle lay a wilting bouquet of white flowers, tied with a dark green ribbon.

And there, on the bed, was someone gazing soberly at the mirror. Someone with golden hair and a sombre face.

"Lucy?" Susan whispered, standing in the doorway.

A/N: I am planning to update this every Wednesday; if for any reason I forget (I now work taking care of my grandparents, and so days have lost of a lot of their meaning), please do not hesitate to let me know with a PM or a review!