First Chronicles of Narnia fanfic ever, wheee. I read the books a long time ago, and recently wanted to see the move (but haven't! darn it all!). This is inspired by an array of fanfics.

Oh yeah, incest – particularly Peter/Susan. Don't like, don't read, don't flame. Thank you!

(Btw, I know the title is completely unoriginal, but I feel what the heck, it encompasses what I wrote…and this has been read quickly once, I'll probly edit it more later.)

Susan

She remembered it, she remembered it all. And she was sure that she remembered it better, clearer, more passionately than the rest of them did, or even could. The grand feasts. The gentle wind. Aslan's silky mane – which all pains could be lost by crying into. It was memories that made her turn away from Narnia, not forgetting. Never forgetting.

It was easy to become an automaton, fall into a careless, unchanging routine of parties and boys for her life. And it didn't matter to her that she should waste her days away, because it was only at night when she felt truly alive. When memories became dreams, and dreams became a reality – senses so sharp, it was almost painful in contrast to the dull "real" world. She'd remember ruling over Narnians, her people, protecting them and guiding them – the Gentle Queen, Mother of Narnia. She'd recall laughing with her siblings – peals of Lucy's bell-like giggles, Edmund's sardonic sort of snort, and of course, Peter's calm, assuring chuckle – never overdone, but always appreciative, forever promising happiness, safety, and love. And the chorus of all the enriching laughs together was like a private harmony to her ears. These were special moments, to be sure – moments which her current life paled to so much she'd awake each morning with tears in her eyes, her biggest regret being being alive.

And there were other moments too. More private ones, ones shared with just her older brother, the golden High King, Peter – the most beautiful being she'd ever beheld in both her lifetimes. With him, she had her most cherished memories. It could be simple things – perhaps a refreshing walk, just the two of them, to break from the feasting, dancing, or overall extravagant gaiety of Cair Paravel. It could be night concealed kisses, brushing softly like butterfly wings over hands, cheeks, and lips.

And she remembered every last detail. The amazing light scent – did it trace of spices? sweat? flowers? – of his ruffled hair that couldn't be truly described as anything but Peter. The exuberant warmth of his hand on the small of her back as he led her through the halls of their magnificent castle, pulling her away from the crowd, because it was her he wanted and only her. The exact rising and falling of his voice as he called her name in a way only one man would ever and could ever call it. The sight of his smile, the one reserved just for her, where the left eyebrow lifted slightly higher than the right, where eyes said I love you a thousand times over, where upturned corners of lips reached the highest of heights. The sour-sweet taste of his lips pressed passionately against hers after a shared bottle of wine and so much more.

It was all so beautiful – her memories. He – Peter, Golden Peter, High King Peter, her Peter – was so beautiful. But in the glare of the harsh morning light that pierced through her windows, dreams, and heart, the beauty was meretricious. Because, though Peter was as dazzling as he'd always been (and she was sure, he would always be), that life was over, and he no longer remembered her. Or at least not completely – most definitely not in the way of leading hands, speaking eyes, and wine-flavored kisses. So as tears pricked her eyes, as pain inside stung as fresh as a salted wound, everyday she would die just a little more. But red eyes could be covered and pain hidden away, and she could live this way - if only because it wasn't really a life she was living. Until one day – behind the stunning makeup, jewelry and clothing – she was only half alive, partially wondering if she should just give up pretending to remember nothing and show her siblings, show Peter, that itwas they, it was him, who had forgotten things.

But she had come to the conclusion long ago that if Peter had forgotten her, in the way that she most needed him to remember her, then memories – even ones as important and beloved as these – weren't the type of thing she could give him back. And she decided if she couldn't have Peter, she didn't need anything else – approval, a real life, and certainly not Narnia.

What's more, she certainly did not need memories – not those wonderful, cruel, blissful, painful memories. But she remembered it, she remembered it all. And she was sure that she remembered it better, clearer, more passionately than the rest of them did, or even could.

The End

So yes, it's short. Perhaps some parts are overdone. And I do feel the end is a bit skimpy, but I couldn't figure out the right way to conclude this. I might tinker with it later, but for now, I'll leave it as is. Reviews, please?