Edmund's Epistle

by narniagirl11

"It was the end of a decade, but the start of an age. We were the Kings and the Queens. We were ready to take on the world. One day, we knew we would be remembered for it. Oh, Susan! How could you have forgotten?" Edmund writes a letter to Susan, begging her to remember, as he and Peter wait for that fateful train. Taylor Swift "Long Live" song fic. Ed & Susan sibling fic. Two-shot

2. Susan's Response

Susan's Response

My dearest, dear, sweet Edmund,

Oh, why couldn't I have received your letter sooner! I would have come, I swear! Why did you have to be so cruelly snatched away from me like that? Why you, Edmund? Why all of you? Couldn't just one of you stayed behind for me? I know that I deserve this. I'm sorry for ignoring you. I'm sorry for shouting – no – screaming at Lucy. I'm sorry that I slapped Peter in my anger. But why couldn't you just grow up? It was only a game and yet you had to die for it.

Maybe you are all right. Maybe it isn't just a game. But that's crazy. I'm sure the Professor started the story to comfort us in our time away from home. And then Peter began to enlarge it and called us kings and queens. Why do you believe his stories, Edmund? Why do you insist that it is the truth? Was it worth dying for?

Oh, Edmund, would you have stayed for me? I know that you can't, but I wish I could hear your footsteps outside my door. I'd throw open that fragile piece of wood and fling my arms around you, and I promise that I would never let go again.

Why can't you come back to me? I'm haunted by your anguished face. I can see your pleading eyes. Why do you torment me, brother? Can't you pester Eustace? But alas, he is gone as well.

Oh, this hideous evil that has befallen you! Why has it taken you and where has it borne you to? All these questions burn in my mind and I can't free myself from them. I want comfort but I can find none. I want to be a little girl again and run to Dad with my troubles. I want to tell him about this nightmare because I am sure that he can make the images flee.

Or perhaps, if I am older, I will be seeking out Peter. He would understand. Oh, Edmund, I'm so sorry for all the biting remarks I made to him. I'm sorry for the stinging comments and bitter quarrels. I am so, so sorry, but regret will never bring him back. I'll never hear your laughter echo down the hall as you two return home from a rugger. I'll never hear Lucy singing to herself as she sketches. I'll never smell Mum's snicker-doodle cookies baking or hears Dad's pen scratching away.

Can't you understand my anguish? Can't you see the tears pouring down my cheeks as I try to write this? But you're gone. You're cold. Dead. I feel so alone without you. I can't stand the silence. Alone. They say that you're in a better place. I don't know whether to believe them or scorn their sympathy. But how long must I wait until I can join you, wherever you are? I close my eyes and I can see your face. If home is where my heart is, then I certainly don't belong in Finchley.

Oh, Edmund, I miss you all so much. I never had the chance to tell you how much I appreciate that you stood by me until the end. You didn't give up on me. Thank you. Thank you, my dearest brother, and now, farewell. Farewell, Edmund the Just, whether you are real or imaginary. Farewell.

Your sister, Susan Pevensie