Chapter Four: Susan
"Peter, are those the same pants you wore yesterday?"
He stopped in his tracks and glanced down at his trousers. "...Maybe..."
Typical Peter. Susan pursed her lips and glanced skyward at the patches of clear blue sky peeking through the dissolving clouds.
"What?" he whined. "You didn't even notice till now, and I've been wearing them all day."
Susan could think of several lines of argument she could use against this, but she decided she'd be better off picking another battle later on, on better ground. Too tiring for the moment. Normally she was fastidious about appearance - "Cleanliness is next to godliness!", as her old Gran would say - but it wasn't likely that old Gran or anyone else she knew would see her with her rumpled siblings right now. They were returning home after two long hours watching rugby. The boys, and Lucy too, got more energy from that sort of thing, but Susan had been bored stiff in the in the first fifteen minutes...
Scratch that last about not seeing anyone she knew. They were just nearing the train station when a gaggle of chattering girls in Susan's form spilled out onto the sidewalk. She had to stop walking abruptly to avoid walking into one of the them - Julia Harmer, a pretty blonde in Susan's English class. They backed away from each other quickly, careful to avoid stepping in a rather wide puddle on the pavement between them. It was one of those awkward moments where Susan dodged to her left just as the other girl veered toward the same side. They over-corrected together a few times before Susan stepped off the sidewalk entirely and stood still for Julia to pass. She could hear her siblings snickering behind her, but she was more concerned with the quieter snickers coming from the group of girls as they filed through the Pevensie siblings.
Julia Harmer, Angie Whetstone, Amelia Smith, Edith Creebourne, Deb Fitzpatrick - Susan knew all their names. It shouldn't matter what they thought - she'd told herself that more times than she could remember. Susan was a queen, after all, and these were just school girls. But at lunchtime and in the hallways and between classes, being a queen of a fairytale land didn't count for much. Everyone at her school possessed a certain amount of social capital - usually in direct proportion to how much they knew about invitations, hair, stockings, beaus - and these girls had more than anyone. Susan barely had any.
All of the girls ignored her completely, but one or two gave Peter a quick glance. He didn't seem to notice, though. Edmund and he had been in the middle of recounting a particularly exciting play (though again, exciting to whom?) when the girls had spilled out, but Peter had stopped responding. He was standing stock-still, staring back and forth between Susan, who was still in the street, and the flat puddle on the sidewalk. He barely even looked at Angie, who pressed his arm lightly and cooed "Hello, Peter," (in that butterfly tone she only used on boys and teachers) before she continued on up the street with the others.
Susan scowled. Of course Peter didn't need any conversation capital, unpressed pants or no - he was practically made of capital, and he hardly knew it. Next to him, Edmund was tipping his hat towards Julia, grinning and waving stupidly when she smiled at him over her shoulder. The other girls tittered and Angie called "Hi!"
Lucy began to laugh. Recovering herself, Susan swatted Edmund's fingers down and hit his arm lightly.
"What?" he pouted.
"You know perfectly well 'what.' You look like an idiot!"
"I do not! Technically I'm too old for them, you know."
"I don't even want to get into that right now -"
"It's simple math, Su - "
They were interrupted by a short ahem. Edith Creebourne had backtracked to rejoin the Pevensies. She tapped the still-staring Peter on the shoulder to get his attention, and extended an envelope for him to take. "I almost forgot - this is for you."
Edith's dark eyes met Susan's briefly before she spun around to rejoin the others. Since the Creebournes had no other children, Edith had often played with the Pevensies when they were younger. After the evacuation, though, when Susan and Lucy had suddenly become eager to play Princesses for hours on end, spinning long tales about courts and battles and other such things, Edith had quickly found other interests, and other friends... Susan blushed slightly at the memory, wondering if Edith had told the others about their fairytale games.
"Bye, Edith!" Lucy called. The other girl didn't look back. "What do you suppose that was about?" Lucy asked.
Peter finally looked up, glancing indifferently at Edith's retreating form before pulling the envelope open, receiving a thin papercut for his haste. With a quick ow, he handed Susan the envelope and flicked his fingers once before sticking the wounded one in his mouth. Susan didn't bother to read what was in the envelope. She knew from the crisp engraved paper what it contained - an invitation to Edith's father's wedding. Susan had had all the infamous details of his remarriage to a foreigner from Mrs. Pevensie last night. Honestly Susan didn't give two figs who married who and from which country, but it was always comforting to listen to her mother prattle on about the neighbourhood news. No conversational capital required for that.
"Big old crush on Peter, she's got," Edmund answered Lucy's question. "They all have."
"Oooo, Peter and Edith, kissing in a tree... do you fancy her, Pete?"
"What's not to fancy?" Edmund said, watched the girls retreating. "Those long lashes, that shiny auburn hair, nice slim legs..."
"Edmund!" Lucy gave a dramatic eye roll.
"...Other assets, too...though I think I prefer Julia's, myself..."
Peter, it seemed, had barely noticed Edmund or Lucy. He was staring into space again, hand in his pocket.
"Peter?" Susan asked quietly, stepping back onto the sidewalk.
"Suppose..." he glanced around for a moment, face intensely serious, checking that Edmund and Lucy weren't listening. "Susan, suppose we're not supposed to be waiting for Aslan - suppose he's waiting for us?"
She contracted her brows. "What do you mean?"
But he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was crouching beside a deep puddle on the ground. When he spoke, it was with the voice of command he had used ages before. "Take my hand."
She obeyed instinctively, crouching herself as she opened her mouth questioningly. He cut her off: "Take Edmund's hand. Edmund, take Lucy's right. Lucy, take my arm with your left."
The other two had stopped talking abruptly, staring down at the older Pevensies. Peter's fist was hovering over the puddle, fingers balled around whatever he had taken from his pocket, as he waited for the others to comply. "Come on, then!" he snapped. They jumped into action.
"Peter, what -"
But at that moment Edmund had taken Susan's hand and they'd completed the chain. Peter put his balled fist into the puddle, and the water immediately turned murky white. Susan started in surprise.
"What's going on-"
Before she could complete her question, her lids began to droop down of their own accord - she felt impossibly tired all of a sudden. She saw Peter smiling in anticipation and satisfaction, Edmund looking irritated as he tried to mumble something, and Lucy yawning hugely as she knelt on the ground. Her own knees hit the dirty pavement just as her brain began to shut down. As she dropped off to sleep, she realized that they must look a sight lying down in the middle of the sidewalk, in a puddle besides... She tried to open her eyes to make sure no one was watching them, but her sudden exhaustion was impossible to fight off. The last thing she heard were footfalls coming toward them...
It was an impossible, wonderful sleep. Her mind was blank, emptier than it had ever been, but her heart felt warm, sunny.
She woke to the sound of the ocean.
She was lying on a soft patch of grass in the middle of a tall clump of trees. The air was warm, the sky was bright blue - and everything felt blissfully familiar. Where was she? - she couldn't remember falling asleep - she couldn't remember anything - but she didn't feel worried, not yet. She could hear waves crashing, in a low peaceful rhythm, somewhere nearby - there were other sounds too, putting forth little melodies and harmonies, but nothing so purely musical as the waves. For several minutes she was content to lie there on the ground, eyes half-lidded, feeling warm and weightless, listening to the waves crescendo softly on, again and again...
...before realising with a start that the tip of a sword was slowly approaching the tip of her nose.
Her pulse quickened as her eyes flew open. A voice came from somewhere behind her head - presumably the voice and the sword belonged to the same person. "Are you a ghost?"
What sort of a question was that?
"No - and I'm not going to attack you either, so you can put that away, if it please you."
The sword's owner seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Susan sat upright as soon as the sword moved out of her way, taking a deliberately long moment to compose herself before turning round -
And, blinking in the bright sunlight, she found herself staring into the most fantastic face she'd ever seen. Which was rather impressive, considering how many fantastic faces she'd already had occasion to see.
"What be your business here?" the face demanded. She stood up, a little too suddenly, swaying slightly on the spot. The man took her elbow to balance her and spoke again, with more urgency in his tone.
"Lass - what be your business on Ghost Island?"
"Um - " her voice cracked.
What! What's happening here, Susan? She could feel herself flushing all over. Her ears felt warm, she realized, and as she flattened her hair to hide them she realized her pits were rather sweaty. Oh god. His fierce expression changed suddenly, and he spoke very slowly and precisely. "Good lady - have you powers of speech? Have you understanding of our language?"
"Um, Yea." He gave her an odd look. Oops - too formal. "Yes. I mean yes."
He smiled at her, still looking nonplussed, but pleased to get some response. That smile - she felt all her self-respect burbling hopelessly in the pit of her stomach as her heart throbbed. Oh god. Her heart was actually throbbing! She drew herself up, straightening her weekend skirt awkwardly; he drew himself up as well, and she took in a good view of his whole body... it was just as impressive as his face, she noted.
"Have ye a name, fair lady?"
"Yes. I do."
She shifted her weight, taking in her surroundings. 'Ghost Island'?
He waited. She stared at him. He cleared his throat expectantly.
"Oh!" She cleared her throat too "- Yes. It's Susan."
"Susan!" he purred. "Enchanting. My name is Caspian. Prince Caspian, son of King Caspian the Ninth." He extended his hand, which she took with a slightly trembling hand. She shook his quickly, just as he bent over to kiss hers. Still half-bent over, he raised his eyebrows at her, chuckling. Idiot! People don't shake hands here. She took back her hand rather quickly.
"I am in Narnia, though?"
"Yes, of course..." He gave her a funny look, like he was evaluating her. "You must be named for Queen Susan of Old, then?" He was trying to put her at ease, she could tell, but it was difficult to stop her head spinning, mind whirling, heart pounding. "I didn't attend very well in my ancestry lectures, but I believe I had a great- great-aunt with the same name..."
That stopped the spinning. " 'Great- great-aunt!' " she repeated.
"A few more times removed, of course..."
"What! Named for 'Queen Susan of Old'?"
"Yes..." he said slowly, giving her another funny look she couldn't interpret.
"How Old?"
"Uh...well, I didn't attend very well in history lectures, either, but -"
"History!"
"Yes..." He was holding back laughter now, she could tell, out of politeness - and suddenly his expressions made perfect sense: he thought she was slow-headed! Outrage warred with embarrassment - the nerve of him - though her behaviour in the three minutes she'd known him hadn't really suggested much intelligence, she could concede that much. She assumed an imperious stance, gave him as cool a glance as she could manage, and crossed her arms across her chest. "How old do you think I am?"
It was his turn to give her a confused look. "Fifteen, I suppose? Fourteen?"
"I'm sixteen!" Well, she would be next month, but close enough. "And you're what, eighteen?"
"Twenty, actually," he said, casually brushing some dirt from one of his boots. Susan wasn't quite sure what to say to that. Caspian sniffed and looked around them for a moment, listening; apparently satisfied, he took a few steps toward her and leaned against a tree. "I remember being sixteen - I ran away from home that year. Killed a man for the first time, too. Excellent age..."
Lovely - she was alone in the woods with a murderous runaway stranger... a gorgeous one, though, whatever his other faults...
Caspian's eyes lit up suddenly. "The same age as the Princess, actually!"
Her eyebrows shot up. "The Princess."
"Yes!" As he went on, Caspian's face became dreamy. Susan's became rather stony. "I suppose you haven't met her yet - I only met her a few months ago, myself, but she's perfect, just lovely, a dream come true. She's inspired me. You'll be wonderful friends, I'm sure."
That struck her as something of a wild conjecture - she'd only known Caspian for a few minutes, and she was already certain she wasn't interested in becoming friends with his lovely, dreamy wife. "If you say so..."
He didn't respond, staring into the trees around them with a happy smile on his face. She searched for something else to say... "So, a few months - how long have you been married, then?"
"Oh no!" he gasped, startled. "No! We're brother and sister."
"Oh! Right, of course...!" Her heart started thumping again.
"Siblings."
"Right! Siblings sure are... great." What on earth was she talking about? She rubbed her elbows quickly, looking around for Peter or Lucy or Edmund. "My siblings - I don't suppose you'd like to meet them? I'm sure they're around here somewhere..."
"I'd like nothing better. Reep, why don't you - Reep?" He glanced around at his feet for some reason before giving her a sheepish look. "Uh - I forgot my guard again, it seems. Let me just collect them before they worry."
"Certainly - I'd better find my brothers and sister. They're around here somewhere, I think..."
"Why don't you look for them - we're on Ghost Island, also known as Cair Paravel Island -"
"Cair Paravel!"
" - We're on the west side now, so you can't get too lost. I'll find my guard and meet you on the ruins of the south beach in a quarter of an hour's time, just through there, by the water."
He was off before she could say anything. but she suddenly realised she had bigger concerns anyway. Where were the others? How had they even come back - was she here alone? At Cair Paravel, if that's where she was? She stared around looking for clues, but except for the roll of waves the woods were quiet. Figuring open air would help her search more quickly, she trod through the moss until she hit sand. She slipped her shoes off - she'd come back for them later - and set off across the sand at a jog, staring round. They were indeed on an island, or at least a peninsula - she could see the shore of the mainland about fifty yards away. There was still morning fog hovering over the water, obscuring part of her view, but she thought she could make out some distant activity - had the others landed on the mainland? She'd been holding hands with Edmund and Peter, and they'd had Lucy - how had she lost them?
She'd come back here and try to cross if she didn't find them on the island first. She began calling their names softly, hoping one or the other of them would hear her and come bounding out of the woods. Her jog quickened to a run.
It was at that moment that a sound echoed around the cliffs and over the fall of the waves - a sound she'd never expected to hear in Cair Paravel, of all places.
Cannon fire.