Disclaimer: Well, I keep telling this story to come to a close. I'm not in charge of the continuation.
"May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten."
~ Irish Proverb
Susan's bedroom did not look like it had before. The entire wall still curved outwards, and a hole as big as three fingers stood like a black wart in the middle. She blinked at it.
"Down to the living room, I think. Tea and a fire. I could do with a bit of both of those, right now. Visiting Old Woman Winter leaves me with a slight chill; I'm never the one she removes cold from." The Doorkeeper walked into Susan's door and glared at it. "Open!"
"You have to turn the knob and pull on it?" Susan advised, clearing her throat.
"Right, right, wrong time period." He opened the door and vanished into the hallway. Hearing his footsteps make their way down the hallway and to the stairs, Susan sighed before looking over at Huan. He leaned into her.
"Shall we follow?"
By some magic Susan didn't remember seeing, there was a blazing fire in the hearth by the time they reached the living room; the bottom was already glowing embers, and the entire room was warming. "Thank you," she said to the Doorkeeper as he straightened from bending over the fire.
"It's all for my good too. I'm certainly not doing anything for you right now."
Ah. This would be a good time for Susan to practise patience. And for the lectures Old Woman Winter had suggested hearing out.
So she led Huan over to the fire, petted him for a moment as he settled, and then went to her own armchair. She took the teacup the Doorkeeper thrust at her on his return and said nothing. He moved to the couch opposite, drinking half the teacup before he put it back in its saucer.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" he snapped.
Opening her mouth, then closing it, Susan shook her head.
"Not even questions?"
Of course Susan had those, but diplomacy was quite often the knowledge of how to keep one's tongue quiet.
"Then I'll start with one of mine? How, by the heavens above and the earth beneath, did you manage to open a door? Did I leave any tools here last time? You've been creating less and less—a good sign, that, I was pleased, and I stopped watching so closely—and then you open one. How—how?"
"I remembered the saying Hester used, to summon a door, and I tried it out." Setting her teacup to the side, Susan laid both hands in her lap, letting them rest on the worn plaid skirt.
"Oh." The Doorkeeper sounded as weary as a mother of six at bedtime. "Yes, I suppose that would do it. Listen, child, only say that if I am expecting you."
"Why? I will," she added quickly, seeing his irritation come flooding back across his face, "I promise I will, but—I would like to understand."
"Space…isn't the stable item you think it is, it's wibbly-wobbly.* Some spaces and worlds are overlaid; some are far apart. Sometimes a door is an opening from one kind of space to another, but sometimes there is space between the beginning of the door and its end. And in the middle dwell monsters, shoved out of their worlds. They are drawn to fear and pain, like flies to rotting flesh. So when I open a door, I use the winds created by opening doors to chase away anything standing close, and it keeps the ones passing through safe. And alerts the Walkers, too, which is a nice by-product." He sighed. "On my worst of days I'm not a Doorkeeper. I'm a warrior, fighting monsters in the dark. It's one reason I became friends with Old Woman Winter, to remind myself that not everything cold is evil."
"So if you know a door is opening, you send the wind?"
"Send is such a simple word—I open many doors, all at once, to allow the wind to sweep through. It's why I prefer to travel without passengers, most of the time."
"That sounds lonely."
"I'm too busy to be lonely."
She couldn't help wondering if that was true. He didn't seem like the kind of person who needed other people—and he had the Bookkeeper to annoy him at home, even if she wasn't sure what kind of company a quotation-only person would be—but she had never met anyone who didn't need other people occasionally. Were the Walkers his company, the ones whose stories he got to see for a full chapter or more, instead of a single paragraph?
"Well?"
"Yes?" Susan asked.
"You must have called the door for a reason. What was it?"
Right. A lifetime ago, she'd wanted the Doorkeeper's advice. "I…was hoping to talk to you about this house."
"The wall is the way it is. There's nothing I can do when space has folded itself over to open a door. Normally I take more time, but this time…"
"Yes. No, what I wanted was advice on…the emptiness of the house." She set her cup down. "A friend of mine knows a family who could use a place to live, and I wondered what you thought about my inviting them to live with me."
"Why are you asking me that?"
"Well, you gave it to me."
"Which means it's not my problem anymore. It's yours."
Holding her breath and counting to five did not work. Yes, he was angry, but he was also making it almost impossible for her not to be angry as well. "I have a history of making poor decisions right now. I would like your thoughts on inviting someone else here."
Perhaps he heard the warning in her tone—though Peter had always been the best at that (something older siblings seemed to have as an innate talent), Susan had been called to use it occasionally, because the Doorkeeper's tone sounded less irritable as he answered, "I haven't any. I would certainly not invite anyone to live in my own house. But I'm not a Walker, and haven't the wisdom for this. If you want to make a wise decision, consider a few questions. Do you still need the house? Does your heart need it as a haven, or a place to be alone?"
Carefully thinking over the past few days, Susan admitted, "Sometimes."
"Then do not give away what you need quite yet. Still, keep it in mind for the future. You were made to have people around you."
"Thank you." She let the silence settle, then asked, "Do you have questions for me?"
"Do you think you're ready for the next trip?"
Startled—she felt her fingers grip her skirt—she took a moment to think on how to answer that. "I think I have put roots down here in England."
"Do you want to come back to it?"
Thinking of work, the empty house…though she liked helping Nancy and Carol—and Jack's letters brought back her memories quite vividly—she had to answer, "No."
"Well, perhaps that's asking too much. Do you hate coming back to it?"
"No," Susan answered slowly.
"Then that's a start. Another trip occasionally wouldn't be a bad thing—if I open the doors. And it would get things off my list, which would all be to the good. It would also let Huan see you more, so I'll feel less guilty about leaving him alone in the forest at nights."
A snort came from the direction of the fire.
"Very well. Not tonight, though. Tonight I need a good cup of stiff tea with something else in it, and a night by my own fire and no calls." He got to his feet. "I'm leaving Huan here for the night, just in case you get other good ideas," he snapped. He'd stepped through another door before Susan could answer. She looked across the room at Huan.
"I think he's upset." The dog's large eyes regarded her. "Are you upset?" Without moving his head off his paws, he shook it a mere inch from side to side. "I suppose that's because you got to save me. Thank you for that," she added, as sincerely as she could, and he closed his eyes. "Do you want anything?" A soft snore was her only answer, and Susan smiled. It was very pleasant to have a dog, a good dog. "I think I'll sleep on the sofa tonight." Dinner first, though. She fixed herself some soup, and brought two bowls of it back into the living room, wondering if the smell would make Huan hungry—and wondering if he could even eat soup. She wasn't sure Narnian eating habits carried over to other thrice-talking animals. But Huan didn't stir, and Susan, after eating one bowl and putting the other away, came back to the living room with a blanket and lay on the sofa. There was something incredibly reassuring about the sound of Huan's heavy breathing, and she fell asleep quickly, without any nightmares.
A cold nose poking her on the shoulder woke her the next morning, and she yawned. "Good morning, Huan," she said drowsily. Her neck wasn't happy with her.
The nose poked her again, and she came a little more awake. "What is it?"
Knock knock. Someone was at her front door.
"You make a nice quiet guard dog." Groaning, Susan rolled off the sofa and right into Huan. He stayed right beside her, giving her something to lean against all the way to the door.
Knock knock knock.
"I'm coming!" she called down the hallway. Yawning again, she opened the door to find Nancy on her doorstep. "Nancy? It's not tea-time." Rolling her neck, Susan edged backwards, away from the cold while giving Nancy room to come in. Only after Nancy didn't move did Susan realise Nancy hadn't responded either. "Nancy?"
"Susan," Nancy gulped, "there's a horse-size dog next to you."
Worlds colliding, I think Edmund called it. Thinking that, Susan also knew what Edmund would have said, and Lucy too, for entirely different reasons. She quoted them both as she said "His name is Huan," petting his head.
"Why do you have a giant dog?" Nancy took a step back. "Is he safe?"
Safe? He's good—where—
Oh.
Aslan, we said the same about You.
"He would never hurt a friend of mine," Susan said firmly. "Here, pet him."
"I think I'd rather stay outside." Nancy took another step back, and Susan sighed. Huan sighed as well, the first sound he'd made.
"Huan, please go sit by the fire."
Nancy watched with wide eyes as Huan turned and went into the living room. "He knows what fire means?"
Oh. Edmund would have been much more careful. Sorry, Nancy. Sorry, Huan. "He knows what I meant. Come in, Nancy. It's cold."
"He really won't hurt me?"
"He won't."
Edging inside, Nancy looked down the hallway. "Maybe I'll keep my coat on."
"Nancy, we can talk in the kitchen if you're actually afraid."
"Why aren't you? That dog could devour you whole."
"He won't. He's my protector."
"Where on earth did you get him?" Nancy asked, following a good two paces behind Susan. Bypassing the living room for the moment, Susan headed to the kitchen to make tea and toast.
How am I to answer that? Edmund, you'd—tell the truth, but not all of it. The Doorkeeper lent him—sort of, Huan made the choice too. Not that Nancy needs to hear that! So I wouldn't be alone. I could say that.
"A friend let him keep me company, on the bad nights."
"And you're sure—" Nancy broke off at the look Susan gave her. "Very well."
"Would you like some breakfast?"
"Breakfast? Susan, it's after lunch."
"It's what?" Sunlight had been streaming through the windows—odd in a foggy London winter—but Susan hadn't paid attention.
"Did you go to bed late last night? Are you all right?" The concern in Nancy's voice was real, and quite gentle.
"No, I just—I accidentally got hurt yesterday. Someone took care of it, but I must have been…more tired than I thought."
"It wasn't the dog, was it?"
"What? No, of course not. He helped me from getting hurt more."
"Susan, were you somewhere…dangerous?"
How am I to answer that?
"I was home," Susan said, turning and giving Nancy a reassuring look. "I was just careless. Huan dragged me out of the way."
"Oh. I suppose that's better than what I was thinking." Nancy had one hand on the counter, and Susan realised she was tapping her fingers against it.
"What brings you here?" Susan asked, keeping her own voice gentle.
Tap tap. Tap tap.
"Tea is ready," Susan offered, when Nancy didn't say anything. Starting, Nancy looked at the white teacup Susan held out. "Let's go to the living room."
Nancy followed, though she halted when she saw Huan before the fire. "In here?"
"He doesn't bite."
"I suppose if I came for your advice I should trust your opinion." Still, she chose the chair further away from the fire. Sitting gingerly, she held her teacup on her lap and kept her eyes on Huan. He blinked back at her and laid his head down.
"What advice do you need?" Susan asked, keeping her eyes on Nancy. She didn't think the nervousness was entirely due to Huan's size and presence.
That drew Nancy's attention to Susan. "I…brought breaking up with Robert."
"What did he say?"
"He asked me why." Raising one eyebrow, Susan waited for more. "I told him—that I didn't see us together for the rest of our lives. That this was a bit of fun, and nothing more. He asked me what was wrong with that, and I tried to explain—explain that he can't come to all the places I need him, and I miss him there, when I have to go alone, and…oh, things like that. And he got so angry, just for a moment, that I was afraid. But then he started talking about everything he'd done for me, all the ways he'd changed, and didn't that prove he loved me, and wasn't that worth something?" She looked down at her teacup, and Susan was startled to see a tear falling into it. "Isn't it, Susan? If he loves me that much—isn't that worth something? Isn't it worth me staying?"
"Nancy," Susan began, as gently as she could. "If he loves you, and you do not love him, is staying what is best for him?"
"But maybe I could," Nancy replied, swinging her head up. "I did before."
"Did you?" Susan got up and went over, sitting on the arm of the chair next to Nancy and putting her arm over Nancy's shoulders. "I don't think you did."
"I liked him."
"You liked who you thought he was."
"Can't I make myself like him again?"
"Maybe, Nancy. Maybe you could. But should you?"
"No," Nancy whispered, one hand coming up to hold Susan's. "He's not—he would be a terrible husband. He changed when I asked him to, but only after I'd left. And we still only go the places he wants to go, when we're together. We do what he wants to do; or I do it alone." More tears were falling down her face, and Huan whined. He too got up and came over, putting his head on Nancy's lap. Nancy sat very, very still. Huan stayed there, eyes staring up at her with the expression only dogs can make. Very gingerly, she reached out a hand and patted him. When he didn't move, she began petting him.
"I'm sorry, Nancy."
"So am I," Nancy whispered. "I'm really, really sorry." She kept petting Huan. "I'm going to have to argue with him, in order to stop seeing him. Susan, I don't want to do this."
"I'm sorry." Susan suddenly wished, fiercely, for Edmund or Peter; they would have escorted Nancy to and from talking to Robert, whenever it happened; and seeing them gave most people the backbone they needed.
"I know." She gave Huan's head one last pet. "I didn't like dogs. But I think I like yours." A bitter, bitter laugh left her lips. "He's the opposite of Robert. I get to know him and I like him better."
Susan reached her other hand up and stroked Nancy's swept-up hair. They stayed like that, the three of them, until Susan's stomach rumbled and Nancy insisted she get lunch. Nancy talked about anything but Robert through lunch, and then left as quickly as possible—though she turned back for a quick hug, and a pet for Huan's head, just before she went out the door. Shivering, Susan stood looking after her till she was out of sight. Then she shut the door.
"Poor Nancy," she said to Huan. He nudged her. "Any ideas what we should do this evening? I can't take you for a walk," she added, heading back to the living room.
But perhaps she could, because it was at that moment that she felt a door opening, and she heard a fussy voice saying, "Ready, Aslan's Queen?"
*Can anyone complete that phrase?