A/N: Well, folks, here it is, the final chapter of Ruination! This honestly feels like a dream, I've never actually finished a multi-chapter fic before and I didn't even draft this one ahead of time the way I'm trying to do with other things, so I'm incredibly grateful to everyone who commented and kept me motivated all month!

It's been a blast sharing this story with you, and I hope to share even more very soon! There are so many in the works, you don't even know haha, but I'll stop talking and let you get on to the actual chapter now. Thank you a billion times over to all my dear readers, whether you've commented or not, whether you're reading this in the future because you didn't trust me to finish it (I know who you are), whatever the case, THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU.

xXx

I am not ruined. I am ruination.

Leigh Bardugo

xXx

CHAPTER SEVEN: ASHES

Peter's lungs caught on icy air as he gasped, choking like the first breath above water after drowning.

Blinding light stabbed at his retinas, eyelids fluttering, the dusty chambers inside his head cast into sharp and aching relief as his arms reached numbly, buzzingly up to shield them.

His mind floundered as he tried to put these strange sensations together, but his memory was hazy, the light and the open air didn't make any sense. It had been dark, it had been…

A dungeon.

He shot up, eyes flying open, muscles screaming as if everything inside him were bruised, but the pain barely registered. Grey sky and blue mountains sprawled out around him, wild and jagged and foreign, and it took another moment to realize he was on top of the tower.

The tower.

It all came rushing back: the sorcerer's notes, Edmund's blood, the bite. His hand flew to his jaw, the jagged ridge still drenched in dried and congealed blood, and he winced as the scab cracked, but his mind was racing. How was he here? How was he alive?

The last thing he remembered was telling Lucy to run, and then…

He shuddered, shifting his leg only to realize something was laying on top of it. And then the whole scene came into focus around him.

Heaps of corpses in various stages of decay littered the black stone outcropping, strange and stark in the sunlight, a web of bony limbs tangling around him as he extricated himself and stood achingly to his feet, squeezing his hands, testing his arms and legs for breaks, wiping the ticklish trickle of blood from a cut on his forehead.

"Peter…?"

His heart jumped and he whirled around, head spinning with the vertigo, but that didn't matter.

All that mattered was Lucy's ash-streaked face as she sat up not ten yards away, just beyond the tangled mass of bodies.

His breath caught and he almost tripped over something's arm as he stumbled toward her, Lucy's wide eyes fixed on him with a mix of fear and wonder.

"Is… is it really you?"

"Yes," choked Peter, a lump surging into his throat at the sound of her voice. "Yes, it's really me."

A tiny sob escaped her as she bolted up and flung herself into his arms, a bundle of little sister crashing into his chest as his arms wrapped around her and his lips pressed against sooty red curls.

Lucy's shoulders shook with tears and laughter at the same time, and a moment later Peter found he was laughing too, a rogue tear streaking through the grime of his cheek as he squeezed her tight and silently vowed never to let go again.

"What happened?" he gasped as soon as he had the breath to do so. "How did you do it? Did the spell work? What are we doing out here?"

"Yes— well, no— kind of— oh it's hard to explain!" She pulled back just enough to look up into his face, arms still wrapped tight around his waist. "I did the spell—mostly—and then I couldn't see, but something else was there too. It was the wolf—I mean, the sorcerer—he didn't really die, he's been behind the infection the whole time! And he wanted me to add my blood and I almost did, but then I remembered what we said before about the witch and— oh! Aslan must have driven him off in the end!"

"What?" Peter was struggling to follow any of this excitable explanation, but the last part caught him entirely off guard. "Aslan was here?"

"Well, not exactly, he wasn't here in the tower, but… he was here. I knew I couldn't do it on my own, and, well… it must have worked, because here you are!"

Peter squeezed her shoulders. "Oh, Lu, aren't we lucky to have you!"

"And Aslan," grinned Lucy.

Peter smiled back, a real, full smile. "You always knew, didn't you, that he would help us?"

"I hoped," said Lucy, and her voice got a little quieter. "For a while I think I forgot, but he never forgot us. We just had to find a way to let him help."

Peter could have burst with love for his sister at that moment, eclipsing even his own guilt at nearly forgetting the Lion in his desperation.

Then another thought struck him, and Lucy must have seen the change in his face, because her brow furrowed for a moment before they said at the same time:

"Edmund!"

Lucy turned and ran, dragging Peter along by the hand through the carnage and back into the study, though he really didn't need to be dragged.

Heavy black soot coated every surface in the room, clinging to the soles of their boots, and Peter couldn't help but notice the sorcerer's corpse no longer adorned the desk, but he decided that was a question better left for later as they burst out into the rest of the tower and raced down the stairs.

Lucy didn't even have the breath to talk, gasping out snatches of her terrible adventure here and there, but Peter's mind was racing too fast to listen very well, and at last they reached the door to the dungeons and plunged without hesitation into the black abyss.

Boots clapped over the stone steps as Peter descended two at a time, passing Lucy, and the dimly flickering cell block came into view around them.

At first he was so blinded by the shadows he couldn't see anything beyond the bars, and his heart skipped a beat, steps slowing with sudden apprehension.

For a second it was dead silent.

Until the clink of iron a few cells down, and a hand withdrew from the keyring as the door swung open, a silhouette stepping out into the dull orange backlight.

And before he could even speak, Peter rushed forward and nearly bowled Edmund over in a rib-crushing hug.

Arms latched tight around his shoulders and his brother's laugh barked in his ear, dry but still distinctly Edmund as Lucy crashed into them with a squeak.

Peter clutched Edmund so close he could have felt his heartbeat through his ribcage had his own not been pounding so hard, face buried in his brother's shoulder, the coppery scent of dried blood barely registering through his relief as Edmund broke away just enough to include Lucy in the embrace.

"I thought you were dead!" she sobbed.

He buried a hand in her hair, bloody fingers tangling through filthy curls. "I'm not." He coughed to clear his dry throat, "I'm not. It's okay."

Only Peter could see the weariness in his eyes, and realized it wasn't just Lucy he was trying to convince.

"How am I back?" he asked after a long moment, drawing himself up and leaning heavily on Peter's shoulder. "How did you do it? Pete, what happened to you?"

Peter brought a hand up to his chin where Edmund's gaze was fixed, and felt the crumbling remains of the blood that must have been dribbling from his mouth. He shuddered at the thought; a half-remembered nightmare. "Long story."

Lucy launched into it at once.

Peter still couldn't quite follow her energetic rambling trail, but smiled at Edmund's equal bewilderment, Aslan's name flying from his sister's tongue as easily as if that were its home.

"And it's really all because of him that it worked! And Peter's idea, too, of course, though it didn't go exactly to plan. Sorry about your hand, it was the only way to get your blood. I tried not to do too much damage but—"

"My blood?" Edmund lifted his hand, and Peter almost winced at the sight of the dark gouge across his palm that he'd somehow been ignoring.

"Yes, weren't you listening?"

"I'm sure he was doing his best, Lu," said Peter with a slight grin, but Edmund's brows knit in confusion when he looked back at Lucy.

"You needed my blood?"

Lucy went still, and Peter almost thought she turned a shade whiter under the dark stains.

"Yes," said Peter hesitantly when she didn't answer.

Edmund's piercing eyes turned to him.

"Why?"

xXx

The oaken planks of the washroom door dug into Susan's back as she stared unseeing into the darkness. Her throat ached, her raw face stung. Her tears had been spent long ago, yet still her head churned.

By now reality had set in many times over, every little piece of her world dismantled one by one. The city was lost. The palace overrun.

There were still the creatures who'd made it into the east wing alive, but where would they go? How would they survive when the food ran out? As for herself, she'd locked the door to her room the moment they got inside. No one could come in to rescue her. And even if they managed it, she didn't want to think about what that would mean.

But of course, she did think about it, over and over, as the shambling steps and the rasping growls and the occasional crash in the other room bored deeper and deeper into her skull.

She was so lost in these musings that she didn't even notice when it all went quiet.

Not until a voice came from the other side of the door; at first mumbling, indistinct, but then she thought she heard her name. And then clearly, in that familiar voice, weak but unmistakable:

"Susan?"

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Was she imagining things? Was it some kind of trick? Had someone else gotten in somehow? No, that wasn't possible.

But then, how…?

"Aish, ow."

That wasn't a monster's grumbling. She knew that childish whine anywhere.

She shot to her feet so suddenly that sparks burst in her vision, and turned the handle as they subsided, cracking the door open into the sunlit room beyond, the floor smeared everywhere with blood, but her gaze didn't linger there.

It flew instantly to the only thing she could have wished for, the one thing she never thought she would see again.

"Corin!"

Their eyes met, clear and real and living, and she burst out into the bedroom and threw her arms around his neck.

He caught her up with a gasp that might have been a laugh. "You're okay!" he cried, muffled into her hair. "I thought maybe— I was afraid I—"

"No," she sobbed with relief, "I'm perfectly alright. And you, you're—" She pulled back to look him up and down, cupping his blood-smeared face with one dainty hand. "You're alive, how—"

"I don't know," he said, "It was just a minute ago, like… like waking from a dream."

Besides the bite on his hand and the blood he'd obviously tried to wipe from his mouth, along with the other assorted bruises and scrapes she could see, Corin looked perfectly healthy.

Susan's eyes flashed up to his. "Do you think—"

"The others…" His face brightened as the implication hit him too. "But how—"

"I can't imagine, but, does that mean… everyone else…?"

They both turned to the door.

Corin moved first, picking his sword up off the floor where he'd dropped it so many hours ago, and Susan dug the key out of her pocket, fingers trembling as she fitted it into the lock and it clicked.

Corin's hand gripped the handle at once, paused for a moment, and then pulled the door open.

The hallway was still and silent.

He slipped out and looked around, and Susan followed, still feeling as if this must be a dream.

Retracing their steps took only a few minutes, and then they were descending toward the landing where it had all gone wrong. Corin held his sword out ahead of them all the while, but when they came in sight of the heap of bodies, they both knew it wasn't necessary.

Only two forms out of the whole mess of them stirred, a dwarf and a shivering hare, staring around blearily yet very much alive as they clambered out from the clutches of the dead.

Susan's stomach fell.

"Your majesty," croaked the dwarf, "I don't rightly know what's happened here, I—"

"Is it over?" asked the hare, voice shuddering and small, blood drenching half of its body. "I only remember… that dog bit me, I tried to get away, and now…"

"Yes," breathed Susan. The palace was utterly still around them, cathedral halls giving no echo save for her own voice. "I think it's over."

Corin leapt over bodies, playing hopscotch with the small patches of bare red floor until he reached the door on the other side of the landing, and pounded harder than Susan would have recommended even as the breathable silence cushioned her fears. "Hello?"

There was no response, and he pounded again. "Hello? Peridan?"

Susan thought the others must have gone deeper into the east wing and couldn't hear them, but just as soon as she'd thought it, there was a clank and a groan, and the door opened slowly, a sword appearing first, and then a flash of red hair.

The sword dropped to Peridan's side the moment his eyes locked onto them. "Corin? Queen Susan?"

"Who else?" asked Corin. "Ignore the face, by the way, I'm fine now. We're all fine now, actually. That is, whoever survived. Not so much, um, everyone else."

"What are you talking about?" Peridan's eyes flicked to Susan, and then to the dwarf and the hare.

"The infection has gone," said Susan, and the full reality of the words crashed down on her as she spoke them.

For a moment Peridan's face reflected her own astonishment. Then he looked as if he would collapse. "By the Lion, I thought I killed you," he breathed, and pulled Corin into the tightest hug she'd ever seen him give anyone. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Corin laughed. "I wasn't planning on it. Although, next time you feel like getting shut out with a horde of flesh eating monsters, I'd be happy to return the favor."

Peridan tried to pin him with a stern look, but couldn't keep the smile out of his eyes.

He stepped out and wove his way cautiously to Susan's side as a faun poked his head through the door and a murmur of voices rose up behind him.

"The Kings and Queen must have succeeded, then," he said breathlessly.

"Yes. They must have." Her thoughts flew to her siblings, wondering where they were now, wondering how they'd done it.

Corin ran to the railing and hung out over the floor below, looking both ways above the grand staircase. "There are more of them! More people waking up! We're going to want that cordial now, though."

Susan and Peridan followed him to the edge.

Blood drenched the floors of the Cair, even smeared up on the walls, but amongst it all, creatures were pulling themselves up, staggering to life, looking around at each other.

Narnia was saved.

Just not all of it.

"Peridan," said Susan, the act of giving an order lending strength to her voice, "Collect the cordial from the upper courtyard. We must use it only on the worst cases, fatal or crippling injuries."

The knight nodded and ran from the room, back the way they'd come in their escape early that morning. It already felt like a lifetime ago.

Corin turned quickly from the bannister. "What should I do?"

"Find a healer, anyone, as many as you can. They'll need a clean place to work, an empty room if there are any."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a slight grin, and doubled around to descend the stairs to the ground floor.

Susan glanced over to the creatures filtering hesitantly from the east wing door, awaiting their own instruction even as their eyes lingered on the bodies of the fallen. In death the twisted forms were no longer hungry or terrifying; only forlorn, tragic.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. "Take the dead to the lower courtyard. Let their families choose how to honor them."

And so the work began, every living creature in the city pitching in however they could, moving the dead, tending the wounds of the living. The entry corridor became a makeshift hospital for the next two days (the dryads took most of the responsibility for tending to the wounded, as they were the only population not ravaged by the virus), and after that, a mass pyre was constructed in the valley outside Cair Paravel's southern walls.

Susan wouldn't have imagined herself capable of such a task even a week ago, but now the ability to do anything at all was more than enough to keep her spirits up after so many days of complete helplessness.

On the third day, Corin got a letter from his father, informing them that their warning had arrived in time to secure Anvard, and that the destruction was not too much. Archenland had suffered only in its most rural towns, and they'd even sheltered many talking beasts from Narnia's southern border. King Lune sent his thanks, inquired after their wellbeing, and Corin ran off at lightning speed to answer before the poor carrier pigeon had a chance to catch its breath.

The city was taken up every night with mourning, candles alight in every window, woven wreaths and small personal tokens on every doorstep, and Susan often lingered at these memorials until someone coaxed her inside.

But at last, efforts turned from mourning to preparing for their monarchs' return.

Susan counted the days like a ritual, double checking her math a hundred times, trying to guess at when her siblings would make it back.

If they're all still alive.

Corin was the one mainly tasked with dispelling her worries.

"Of course they're alive, they did it, didn't they? How many people do you know who ever broke curses when they were dead?"

But that wasn't exactly the right thing to say to someone who'd already imagined every possible way her siblings could have traded their lives for the cure.

Susan paced up and down the length of the great hall, pretending to check on the progress of the cleaning and reordering of the palace, but such projects were going so well by now they barely needed her help at all. She absentmindedly fingered Lucy's cordial on her silk belt, a habit she'd picked up over the past few days. They hadn't needed the cordial since the beginning, but still Susan never went anywhere without it, as if by carrying it she could carry a piece of her sister, too.

Corin trailed a pace or two behind her, a little blond planet orbiting its agitated sun. "It's only been five days since the infection left, give them time."

"But five days. It took them four going out."

"So they're taking their time!"

"Well if they are, they have no regard for my nerves!"

Corin grinned, and Susan pursed her lips.

"I'm sure you can tell them all about that when—" He paused, glancing up as a bluebird fluttered into the great hall and landed on his shoulder, whistling before it spoke.

"Your majesties! News from the west!"

Susan straightened up at once. "What is it? Are they hurt?"

"Don't know about that, madam, but they're almost here! Thornbeak caught sight of them just north of Glasswater, on the backs of talking horses, no less!"

"Talking horses?" asked Corin, "What happened to their own?"

"Don't know about that either," tweeted the bird, hopping up to do a little spin in the air, "But you can ask them yourself! They ought to be at the palace gates within the hour!"

Susan bolted from the room, Corin's footsteps trailing just behind her as he shouted their thanks to the bird.

In that moment, even propriety went clean out of Susan's head.

The world became a blur as she ran, heart pounding in her ears, all the way across the vast city. Corin panted beside her, but she barely felt her burning lungs, the stitch in her side, the flush in her face.

And then they burst into the upper courtyard just as three horses trotted in through the gate, and Susan gave a little involuntary cry as the golden haired king flung himself to the ground and she ran crashing into Peter's arms.

Laughter and cheers rang through the courtyard, the noise of creatures rushing in from all around, but Susan only clung to her brother, his arms gripping her waist so tight she might break.

Distantly she heard Edmund and Lucy's voices thanking their horses as they dismounted, and then Lucy squealed and nearly toppled Peter and Susan.

Susan looked up to see Edmund smiling at them, extended her arm to him and he walked into it, all four of them clutching each other, Edmund's cheek leaning atop her head, stray raven locks tickling her temple.

At last, after several long moments, they broke apart, and Susan wiped her face to get a better look at her siblings.

Rings of tooth marks marred Peter's jaw and Edmund's neck, long since scabbed over and scarring, and washed out blood stains showed up brown on their scratched and torn clothes, but nothing looked immediately life threatening.

She let out a long overdue sigh of relief.

"How did you do it?" asked Corin, piping in the moment they broke apart, "Where did you go? What happened to your horses?'

"We lost them in the mountains," said Peter, answering only the last question, and Susan drank in the sound of his voice, "On the way in. These good Narnians offered us a ride over the final stretch home."

The horses snorted and bobbed their heads. "No trouble at all, no trouble at all."

"I hear you've had your own troubles," Peter added softly, gravely, looking at Susan.

She nodded. "We are recovering. All of Narnia is recovering."

"Thanks to you," beamed Corin, "And to you three! Now will you tell us how you did it?"

"Why don't we save the questions for later," tutted Susan, pushing Corin aside even as he stuck out a pout in protest. "They'll need rest, and a wash, and some good food before any important discussion can be had. Why, you three look like you haven't eaten in a week!" She brushed Peter's face, his jaw just little more prominent than it had been when he left.

"That's very nearly true," put in Edmund, and Lucy shot him a look.

"Oh Ed, don't exaggerate."

"What? Maybe you can live on nuts and berries, but there wasn't anything worth hunting all the way back!"

Corin sighed. "Well, I'm glad you're not dead, I guess."

Edmund shot him a dry smile. "Thanks."

But the cheer didn't quite reach his eyes, and a strange feeling flitted through Susan's stomach as she turned to lead the way back through the city.

Creatures flooded in around them all the way, barking and chirping and purring their triumphant greetings with such good cheer that no one would have been able to tell what they'd all been through only days before.

The damage wasn't entirely hidden in the streets, though. Wide swaths of paving stones were still dark with old blood, there were still marks on walls and shrines in doorways, and Lucy sucked in a sharp breath when she saw them.

"So many…" she breathed, and Susan took her hand.

Edmund's eyes lingered on the tokens, face stony and expressionless, and Peter wore his sorrow openly, but at last they came into the palace for another grand reception, and Susan led them quickly off to their own chambers as Corin went to "see about dinner."

Susan followed Lucy into her room, and the moment they were alone she pulled her into another embrace.

"Oh, Su, it's so good to be home," breathed Lucy into her hair. "I feel it's been a lifetime since I've seen you, and everything is so… it's so different, so much has happened."

"But Narnia is still Narnia," murmured Susan, with a strength she found only around her youngest siblings. "You will soon find that the people have not changed."

Lucy sniffed and pulled back, looking Susan up and down. "Are you alright? I was so worried when the birds told us about the attack."

Susan put on a smile. "Don't worry about me, I had everything I needed. Speaking of which…" She pulled the cordial from her belt, the crimson liquid just a little lower than it had been when Lucy left. "It's well past time you had this back."

A smile ghosted Lucy's lips as she took it, running her fingers over the diamond bottle, and Susan thought she caught the glint of tears in her sister's eyes.

"Now, let's get you out of these filthy clothes."

Lucy breathed a deep sigh. "Oh, yes, please."

And so Susan set about what she did best: Lucy was thoroughly washed, her (now very ratty) hair was brushed until the curls fell in gleaming orange ringlets around her shoulders, her grimy and bloody clothes (last washed in the shallows of the great river) were sent off to be cleaned or disposed of, and at last she slipped into a soft, silky dress of deep green that Susan tied loose around her waist.

She offered to bring some food in, but Lucy was asleep in a lump on her bed before it could be brought, and Susan didn't wake her again until dinner that evening.

The kitchen staff must have heard about the royals' return in record time, or else they had more faith than Susan, for their dinner was practically a feast now, prepared especially for the occasion, and creatures great and small crowded into the dining hall to celebrate their kings and queens and everyone else who had aided in saving Narnia from the jaws of death.

Corin and Peridan got a special acknowledgement from the High King, to resounding applause that both of them took with just a little too much pride and a slight blush on Peridan's part, and once most of the cheering died down and most of the eating had been done, Peter and Lucy launched into the story of their adventure.

Susan might once have cringed at their cruel and dark descriptions of the tower, but now she only reveled in their voices, bursting with fondness for their animated hands and faces as they filled in details for each other, and although she guessed it was a rather dulled down version of what had actually happened, it enthralled the room all the same.

Peter's wispy hair shining under golden light calmed her heart like nothing in the last week ever could.

There was a great cheer when Lucy got to the part where the spell was broken, and many creatures filed up to thank her especially; including many, Susan noticed, who had been cured themselves at that very same moment Lucy sent the wolf away.

Peter grinned, and Lucy said "but it was really Aslan, of course," and then there were three cheers for Aslan, and a great many of the beasts split off into other halls to dance and cheer and celebrate even more.

It wasn't until dessert was served that Susan realized Edmund hadn't said a word.

Not that her younger brother was ever particularly talkative, but he'd never before missed an opportunity to tell a story of victory when it was so clearly wanted.

She glanced over to him on Peter's other side, just in time to see him excuse himself and bid Peter an early goodnight before disappearing off toward the east wing.

Susan moved to stand, but Lucy touched her arm, and she glanced back down.

"If you're going after him," she murmured under the din of celebration, "You may want to borrow this again." She handed up the cordial. "He didn't let me use it when I tried before dinner."

Susan took the bottle.

"I fear he's a bit concussed," Lucy clarified, and Susan nodded.

"Thanks."

She gave Lucy's shoulder a squeeze and planted a kiss on Peter's cheek before excusing herself and hurrying off after Edmund, weaving through hallways and stairwells up to their wing, though he was apparently much faster than she'd expected, and she reached their communal sitting area without catching up to him.

She knocked softly on his door, pausing to listen for a reply, but when none came a small worry crept into her heart. She knocked again, and then at last turned the knob and cracked the door open herself.

There was Edmund, sitting in the shadows on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, dusk's last grey light filtering over his slumped form.

At the click of the door he looked up and wiped a hand over his face, eyes meeting Susan's so wearily that for a moment she almost regretted following him.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was thin and raspy, even more exhausted than he looked, an entirely different person than the one who had greeted her at the gate. Had he slept at all before dinner?

Susan held up the cordial, trying to put on a smile, but failing to give it her usual warmth as concern flooded her stomach like ice water. "Lucy said you were hurt."

Edmund shook his head, voice dropping an octave. "No."

"No, what? You're not hurt?"

"No. I can't."

Susan furrowed her brow, and Edmund sighed.

"I can't, I can't do it, not when so many of our people—" His breath caught and he bit the inside of his lip, glaring down at the floor. "They're dead. How can I use it when they can't?"

Susan closed the door softly behind her. "You can't think like that, Ed. We had no choice." The rational comfort anyone else would have been hard pressed to give her if the situation were reversed flowed easily from her lips. "Like Peter said, it's like any other war—"

"It's not like any other war!" Edmund shot to his feet and Susan almost recoiled from the fire in his eyes. "It's my fault! All of this! All of them!"

Then just as quickly as he'd snapped, he came back to his senses and pressed a hand to his forehead, sinking back down to the mattress. "I'm sorry."

He sounded so broken that Susan could only blink. "What are you talking about? How is any of this your fault?" She would have said it was ridiculous, but something in his voice made her hesitate. She was no stranger to self blame, and neither was Edmund, but the tremor in his hands as he clenched them tight enough to turn his knuckles white was different.

For a long time he said nothing, and Susan hesitantly crossed the room and sat beside him on the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving his face.

When at last he spoke again, his voice was quiet, and more weary than she had ever heard it before.

"It was my blood. In the spell."

Susan didn't understand.

"They took it, that hag that bested me— they used my blood."

The information sank in, and all at once she realized what Peter and Lucy had left out of their tale, what had so confused her about their victory. Suddenly she couldn't speak around the lump in her throat.

Edmund shook his head again, jaw working furiously as his grey eyes pierced the shadows, though Susan thought he wasn't really seeing them at all.

"There were funeral pyres from Lantern Waste to the fords of Beruna." His voice cracked into a whisper. "So many dead, so many homes abandoned. The forests are quiet, Su, our forests, our Narnia…"

"That's not your fault."

"But, if I had just killed it, when I had the chance, if I had just killed it then, none of this would have—"

"No." This time there was a strength behind her words. "It would have happened anyway."

Edmund looked at her.

"They would have tried again. Or tried for another one of us. They would never have stopped until they got what they wanted, at least if the sorcerer was as mad as Lucy described, and I think she was rather understating things."

Edmund hung his head again, eyes boring into his hands as they clenched into a knot with trembling strength. "But it was my blood."

Susan reached out and laid her delicate hand on his rough, flexed tendons, stroking his feverish skin with a smooth, cool thumb, and he relaxed ever so slightly under the touch.

"You've done everything in your power and beyond for our Narnia," she murmured. "You've nearly died to save it, more than once, even countless times in all your quests. But you cannot control all evil. It will still come, no matter how hard you fight against it. And it is not for you alone to oppose."

His expression was a war between the sense in her words and the guilt eating him alive.

Susan brought the cordial up onto her lap, and Edmund's eyes tracked slowly from the diamond bottle to her eyes, lingering there as every protest died unspoken on his lips.

At last he bowed his head in defeat.

Susan stood, propping a knee on the mattress as she brushed gingerly through his hair, revealing the terrible scabbed and swollen gash at the back of his skull. Her stomach churned just a little as she administered a single drop the way she'd now learned by memory, and then twisted the stopper back on and tucked the bottle into her belt before she could try to fix the bite marks, too.

Edmund sighed, almost deflating, and Susan sank down beside him as he slumped to rest his head on her shoulder, almost a childish gesture, except that he would never have done so as a child.

Susan took him into her arms the way she'd always wished he would let her, stroking his back, murmuring soft assurances into his hair as the shadows of twilight slowly engulfed the room.

And at last his breathing slowed, exhaustion claiming him for what must have been the first time in days, and she coaxed him into bed, not minding for once that he was still in his dinner clothes as she tucked the covers up around him and brushed the hair from his forehead, smoothing it behind his ears and gazing down at his face as the harsh lines relaxed.

When she got up to leave, his hand reached out to catch hers.

She turned back.

His eyes were still closed, but the fingers that clutched hers were strong, and she lowered herself to the mattress again, settling in so that his head rested in the crook of her shoulder.

Just for one night, she thought, the celebration could do without its Gentle Queen.

And for the first time since she watched her siblings ride out through those gates into the unknown perils of the misty countryside, nothing dark clouded her dreams.

The next morning Susan woke late, mid-morning sunlight already casting the silken sheets in a golden glow, alone in Edmund's bed.

He might at least have woken me, she thought with the slightest twitch of a grin as she crawled out from the sheets she didn't remember falling asleep under, and retreated into her own room to change and freshen up. When at last she emerged into the dining hall, she found only Corin finishing an over-large plate of toast and jellies and eggs and sausages, and just barely stopped herself from scolding him.

"Where are the others?" she asked, and Corin didn't bother to finish chewing before he answered.

"They went out to look at the city."

"Was Edmund with them?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't he be?"

Susan didn't bother to hide her smile. "Just wondering." She snatched a piece of toast from his plate and earned herself an unimpressed squint as she took a dainty bite out of it. "Why aren't you with them?"

"I was waiting for you," he said, eyeing the toast for another few moments before stuffing a sausage in his mouth. "And I wasn't done eating."

"I'm flattered."

He washed the last bites down with a swig of juice and pushed back from the table, moving to wipe his mouth with his sleeve before Susan intercepted with the napkin.

He took it with a sheepish grin, dabbing at his face before offering her his arm.

She was still nibbling on the toast as they walked out through several entry halls into the streets, wandering up through the city and occasionally asking passing creatures which way the other kings and queen had gone.

At last they reached one of the low towers near the edge of the city, and spotted four figures up on the parapet.

"How was the tour?" asked Corin as they climbed the last of the stairs and came up beside the others; Peter, Edmund, and Lucy all turning from their conversation with Peridan.

"Well, I suppose you didn't quite burn it down," said Edmund, and shot Corin a dry look, though Susan caught a flicker of good humor in his eyes.

"Of course I didn't," said Corin with no small hint of indignation, "In fact I rather think I did quite admirably."

Peridan chuckled, clapping him on the back. "That you did. You and Queen Susan both."

"Don't forget yourself," said Peter as he came around to take Susan's arm, and she dropped Corin's to cling to her brother. "Corin told me about your heroics last night. It was quite a lengthy account."

"I'm impressed I got a mention around all that bragging," said Peridan, and promptly earned himself a punch in the arm.

Peter grinned. "And how does our little prince feel now that he's no longer Lord of the Palace?"

Corin leaned back with his elbows against the low wall, not bothering to correct Peter's use of the old nickname. "I never want to be king. It's too much work."

Edmund slung an arm sympathetically around his shoulders, and Susan smiled to herself at Corin's unabashed surprise, biting her lip so the boy wouldn't see. Edmund was much better at suppressing his grin.

No matter what the prince said, everyone knew Edmund was his hero.

Then Susan glanced at Lucy, the only one who hadn't spoken yet. She was leaning against the parapet, orange curls brushing the stone, gazing out over the countryside. She likely hadn't even heard most of their conversation.

"What are you thinking of, Lu?" Susan's voice finally drew her sister's attention back to the group.

"Oh, only how strange it is to be here." Lucy's voice was wistful, like it always was when she'd just come out of deep thought.

"How so?" asked Peridan, straightening his shoulders as everyone turned to look at the youngest queen.

There was a short silence as her freckled face scrunched up in contemplation, and then her eyes landed on Edmund when she spoke. "I mean, even after you think the world has ended, life goes on."

Edmund gave her the slightest flicker of a smile.

"I never thought I would see the Cair again, but here I am, and even after everything that's happened, it's still the same old Cair. It's just… I don't know if I'm the same old Lucy. I feel almost a stranger to life now."

Susan got the sensation she sometimes did when Lucy put words to something that everyone else had been feeling without quite knowing how to express it. She'd felt in some way that time had stopped the moment Corin was bitten, and even now it didn't seem like it had started for her again, though everything else kept moving.

"It's so odd," said Lucy, "That something like this can happen and… everything just keeps… going. I suppose it's like Tumnus said, it all comes right in the end."

"And wasn't he proud to remind us on our way back," interjected Peter.

Lucy smiled. "I just don't know how to catch up now."

"We will," said Peter. "Somehow."

Susan couldn't help but believe him when he spoke with such surety, such warmth.

"Aslan has seen us this far."

They all nodded and murmured agreement, and Corin said "I'll drink to that," which elicited a look of consternation from Susan and one of amusement from Edmund.

"Let's wait for tonight for that," said the smirking king, "I don't need to babysit a drunk prince this early in the morning."

"Hey, I didn't say what I was drinking," scoffed Corin. "And that only happened once, anyway."

"Twice."

"The second time doesn't count!"

Susan smiled as the others laughed, Peter and Peridan exchanging a grin, Corin squirming under Edmund's teasing choke hold as Lucy's clear giggle rang like a bell in the clear autumn air, and the slightest promise of winter clung to the breeze that ruffled their cloaks and hair.

Things might not go back to normal all at once, but some things would never change. And with these people, Susan thought she could face anything.

THE END