A/N: This is even more true than usual, so listen up: I OWN NOTHING! Seriously. Literally ALL the dialogue was taken from BrokenKestral's story (which you should all read btw), all the characters were taken from C.S. Lewis, and the plot is clearly not mine.

Anyway, extra special shiny thanks to BrokenKestral, who wrote the original and beta'ed this! (I KNOW, right? She's crazy amazing)

Edmund didn't want to be the one to ask Susan if she was joining them, and to be honest, that thought was followed by a rush of shame, guilt, and no small amount of grief.

But why keep trying when it always ends the same? With me getting hurt. At least, that's how his logical side rationalised it.

Obviously, he knew better. Susan was his sister, and he would never give up on her, no matter how deep the pit she was digging herself into. No matter the pain she put him through when he pointed it out.

The only thing left to do was to keep asking, keep loving, and keep trusting. But could anyone blame him if sometimes, only sometimes, he didn't want to do it?

Lucy took advantage of his hesitation to jump right in as she always did, and her resilience, no, her valour, he lightly corrected himself, was the most admirable thing about her.

"Susan! We're ready to visit Carla Evans, did you change your mind about…coming…" Lucy trailed off, and Edmund looked up to see what the issue was.

It was Susan, standing in the door of her room, but it somehow wasn't at the same time. She looked older, careworn, weary, and filled with grief. He almost wondered if she had recently received news of someone's death, but he quickly discarded the notion, knowing that she couldn't have received any news since Susan hadn't left her room after eating a late breakfast in the kitchen.

Peter closed the door he had opened with a quiet click.

Her clothes were strange too. They weren't what Susan normally wore, and instead of looking brand new, they had the look that only second-hand clothes could. There was a hole in the jacket on the lapel, and a little mud on the hem of the plaid skirt. Further, they were all browns and greys, no bright colours like the kind his Susan favoured.

He realised that he had already designated this Susan as other, but it seemed he wasn't alone. Peter quickly placed himself in front of both Edmund and Lucy, using himself as a barrier between his family and danger in the way he often did.

"Who are you?" Peter asked, wariness and recognition warring in his voice, but it remained steady.

Other Susan closed her eyes, as if she couldn't bear the sight of them, and Edmund had the sudden thought that his Susan had never seemed so…broken, as this woman seemed now.

"Susan?" Lucy whispered, and Other Susan opened her eyes, but kept her silence. Her eyes seemed distant though, guarded, yet crumbling.

It was strange. Strange that she had let them see her so obviously vulnerable, when that was what she had always guarded herself against most zealously. Hiding her tears, squirreling away her sorrows like nuts in the oak tree of her heart.

Narnia had always been the place where she'd opened up the most. Where she finally seemed to accept the phrase "a burden shared is a burden halved", where she'd let them make each other stronger.

It was then, remembering her in Narnia, that he realised that this Susan was not 'other'.

"Peter, it is Susan," he murmured, never taking his eyes off his older sister, "Remember how she looked, that last year in Narnia?"

Peter glanced quickly at Edmund but didn't move. This woman might be Susan, but Ed supposed Pete would still be anticipating danger, just possibly of a different kind. The kind nobody could guard against. But still, his eyes softened.

If she were a knife, his unempathetic side thought dryly, we would all let ourselves be stabbed. We have all let ourselves get stabbed.

"Are you my sister?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Susan said, as if trying to hold back sobs, "Yes, Peter, I'm – I'm your sister. I am. Yes."

And then Peter had crossed the hallway and had his arms around her. Because, well, because no matter how many times she'd hurt them, now she was hurt, and she was their sister. They loved her more than life, and she was sobbing as if her heart had broken into a thousand pieces and her hands had become lacerated by trying to hold them together by herself for so long.

Lucy and Edmund rushed over too, as if the act of circling her with their arms could keep Susan from falling apart. Ed stoked her hair, which was messier than the Susan who normally lived here wore it.

What happened? What on Earth - or not on Earth I suppose - could have happened to leave her like this?

But he couldn't talk, not now. Not while she was sobbing enough tears for an ocean, never mind a river.

They were brought back into reality by the familiar slam of a door downstairs, signalling the readiness of their parents, and the comparative unreadiness of their little group.

"Mum and Dad won't understand. Su, can you – are you, can you act like a guest?" Lucy asked, wary of an explosion, but Ed wouldn't let her take the heat this time, even though this Susan wouldn't be able to act like a guest even if she tried. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks still wet. But he said none of this. And besides, they were going to need to buy some time if they were going to sort this out, and there was another reason it wouldn't work that Edmund could say.

"Dad will see through that in a moment, she's too much like Mum," he interjected, "I'll run and tell them that we want to sort out who gets what for the school term. Cara's got her other two friends, and her parents wont miss us. Be right back."

And maybe he felt a little guilty, but maybe he needed a bit of time to process this. To make sure that his feelings towards the Susan he was used to were not automatically attributed to this new one. He needed to breathe.

He hurried down the wooden stairs, instinctually skipping down the creaky one at the bottom, and into the kitchen. Then the living room, and finally the entryway, where

Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie were grabbing their hats and coats off the rack by the front door.

"Oh, Edmund," his mother said, looking at him expectantly, "I would've thought you lot would be ready by now. At this rate, we'll certainly be late."

"Ah, we've decided to stay in. The school holidays are ending soon, and we still haven't decided who's taking what. We thought it would be better to do it now rather than later, isn't that what you're always saying, Dad?" Edmund said, making sure not to rush it. Speaking too fast was a sure way to raise suspicions.

"True," his father agreed, "but you still have plenty of time left, and I'd hate for you to miss out on something I know you wanted to do. Especially over such a small matter."

"Oh, you know," Ed said, thinking fast, "Susan didn't want to go anyway, and when Lu mentioned she was taking something or other, she objected, saying that she had wanted to keep that, so I thought we'd better resolve it now. Always better to do that kind of thing at the time, right?"

Guilt stirred in his stomach, and he couldn't meet their eyes, but he knew he didn't need to. The lie was close enough to what their parents would assume of Susan, to what most anyone but Lucy would quietly assume of her. And it made his heart break a little that he had used it against them. But needs must, and the Susan upstairs needed them.

"Sounds like you're making the right decision," his father said gently, but its intended effect was lost, because the gentleness was undeserved.

"I'd better get back to it," he said quickly, and spun around, hurrying back up the stairs.

"…Peter, I don't – how old am I here?" came Susan's voice, and Edmund quirked an eyebrow. So, she doesn't just look older, she is older.

"Twenty," he said easily, stepping into the room and walking over to sit near Peter, "your birthday was yesterday."

Glancing at Peter, he said, "Mum and Dad went, they know you're not coming. We should have a couple of hours."

But something he said must've triggered something, because she was crying again, looking as if she were lost again in that sea of grief.

"Easy, easy, Su," Peter comforted, but he got no response.

Edmund moved closer, because his heart ached at the way she cried. And he felt pain that she felt pain, even if he was confused as to why. Susan was almost hyperventilating now, her breathing uneven and full of jagged edges.

"Susan, breathe," he said, pouring all his compassion into it, and she listened, wrapping each breath in a moment of stillness until they came easier. But then her face went blank and guarded as she opened her eyes, and Ed subconsciously leaned backward.

"Susan, don't," Lucy said, ever reaching out. Ed wished that he had reached out, instead of leaning back, because Susan paused, looking at Lucy with round, red-rimmed eyes, and then she let her guard down again. Just like that.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to let go of every reservation and give it to Aslan. Until this moment, he had not realised how wary he had become of Susan. And maybe she had deserved it, but since when had he forgotten that justice with no mercy was an awful thing? And when did he decide to stop extending it to Susan, his own sister, when the Gentle Queen had always extended it to him?

Hesitantly, he allowed himself to speak to the broken soul before him, "You are in so much pain," and it hurts us to see you like this, he thought. She turned to him, so he took a deep breath and asked, "Susan, what happened? What broke you so deeply?"

He saw her pull away, saw Lucy flinch, but Susan put her hands right back into her younger sisters as soon as she'd finished wiping her eyes.

"I'm not twenty," she replied to Edmund, sounding as calm and controlled as ever. "I'm twenty-nine. I have – I have lived most of those years in ways you cannot imagine. Not even you." She paused, hesitating, but continued, "And I'm all alone."

Oh. Oh.

How those words hurt to say. He would know.

And that was when the last of his walls broke down, for Edmund had finally placed the look on her face. It was the same look he would've seen on his own face had anyone held a mirror up to Edmund at aged twelve when he had finally realised what he had done. And the consequences.

But it hadn't been too late for them to extend mercy then, and it wasn't too late now.

"You never befriended Narnia again?" Peter asked, and all three of them waited on bated breath to hear her answer.

"Not in time," she said, "but yes, Peter, I did. I do. I am – as much as I can, I am a friend of Narnia."

Because that's a perfectly straight answer, his mind supplied, not cryptic at all.

He ignored it, still focused on what she'd said earlier. Because how could it be too late? The only time you were out of time to make that choice was when you were dead, and Susan certainly wasn't dead. And if you were a friend of Narnia, you're never alone, not really.

"And you're still alone?" he asked, only realising he was asking out loud when the words left his mouth.

"I walk in other places now," she answered with a cryptic honesty, and Edmund was not satisfied, but didn't push. Despite her honestly, she was clearly keeping some secrets, but given enough time, he'd put the pieces together. Susan was never very good at lying anyway.

"Is that – is that where our Susan is now?" Lucy asked, and Edmund heard her fear at a prospect he himself hadn't yet considered.

If this Susan is an older version, where is the one from our time?

"I do not know," Susan answered truthfully, "And I know, Lucy, how weak she is now. But she is still stronger than you think, when she has to be. If she is walking where I walked, there are those who will care for her." Susan smiled, eyes far away, and murmured, "Impatiently, perhaps, but they will care for her."

"Did you mean to switch places?" Peter asked, and there was another possibility Edmund had not considered. Could Susan be trying to change the past?

But her next words dispelled that theory, "No. I did not know – I did not know a gift like this would be possible."

A gift. Peculiar that what she now calls a gift, she once thought of as a curse. For a person to change so dramatically they – he couldn't finish the thought, for she spoke again.

"I will ask what I did not ask then – now – and what I should have asked for years. Forgive me," she asked, the pleading edge of raw desperation evident in her voice as she turned to Edmund, her haunted eyes boring right into his own in a way that cut into his heart and brought tears of his own to the surface. "I – forgive me. Please, please, forgive me. For all I betrayed and for every hurt I inflicted, forgive me - "

But Edmund could not let her keep begging for something he had already given.

"Forgiven," He told her as sure and certain as he'd ever been.

Then she turned to Lucy, "Forgive me?"

"Always," Lucy said, predictable as the dawn, "Even before you ask. Susan, I'm so glad you're Aslan's again."

And she smiled, what was probably the first smile Ed had seen on her since she'd opened that bedroom door. It was the sort of joy that could not be faked, and barely be explained, only recognised. Not a sparkler that fizzed for a moment and went out, but the kind of joy that came from a blazing fireplace.

Then she looked at Peter, but said not a word, though there was a tensing of the shoulders that only happened when she was nervous. But she didn't need to ask.

"Once a Queen of Narnia, always a Queen of Narnia," he assured her, steady as the rock for which he'd been named, "I dare not disagree. Welcome back, Queen Susan."

And Susan burst into tears again in yet another baffling display of vulnerability. By the Lion's Mane, what could have happened to leave her this fragile? She seems strong, but emotionally distraught. Has she really not seen us in so long?

Lucy proffered the Gentle Queen a handkerchief paired with a smile as natural as sunlight, and Susan took it, chuckling softly.

"Thank you; I need it more than you do," she joked, which, if Ed hadn't already been certain that this was their sister, would have made him wonder if perhaps this Susan was a younger version, not an older one. Or maybe from another dimension, if such things existed?

He quickly shook off his surprise, and seeing Lucy's wide eyes and Peter's guarded gaze, he decided that it was about time someone changed the subject. Past time, actually.

"We'd best do at least a bit towards prepping for the school term, so I won't be a liar," he told them, though in his heart he knew there was no helping that. Why couldn't he have thought of something truer? But being quick to speak always had its pitfalls and being too quick to lie was first and foremost of them.

"I'd like to take the painting of Aslan," Lucy said quickly, and Ed almost laughed. As if any of them would have dared take it from her when they'd all seen how she loved looking at it.

"If none of you want it, that is," she added after a second, though they could all see how sad she'd be to lose it.

"Take it," Peter authorised with a smile, "I've still got the Bible grandfather gave me, and Ed, you've got-"

"-the framed speech from our coronation, as well as the oaths we took. James makes fun of it, but I know he'd miss it if it didn't go back with me," Edmund finished, thinking of his funny roommate who often said one thing but meant the other. Understanding what he really wanted was more a matter of watching his actions than listening to his words, but Ed enjoyed the challenge.

The silence stretched for a moment, and all three of them instinctually glanced towards Susan, before remembering that this woman was a visitor.

Though it's not as if the Susan of this time will want anything to remind her of Narnia, even if this one does, he reminded himself.

"Su, do you want…anything?" Lucy reached out, "If you remember this term-"

"The shawl with the dryads woven in, dancing among the trees," Susan said softly, eyes distant again, "It's pretty enough the Susan from here will wear it – and remember."

"And the painting Eustace gave us? Who would like to bring The Dawn Treader with them?" Lucy enquired, meeting each of their eyes.

"I'd like to give it to the Professor, with your permission," Peter put in. "He's heard enough about it – and he has a bit more time than the rest of us to sit and look at it. The perks of being old, he calls it."

Edmund smiled, his imagination conjuring up the familiar old voice and face saying the words, the perks of being old.

"You should divide up suitcases now too," Susan added suddenly, sounding almost like the Susan from this time. Efficient. Authoritative. Eager to leave. "What?" she reacted to their wary attention immediately, "it makes a difference in how you pack."

"That it does," Edmund said, smiling a practiced smile to hide his own misgivings.

She tilted her head at him, asking him silently what was wrong, which surprised him. Because Susan didn't do that. And out of habit, he looked at the ground, knowing that she wouldn't really want to know. Better not to engage than start something.

But then he felt a hand cover his own, and he was looking up into concern, not condemnation or dismissal. Her hands squeezed a little, speaking more strongly than words, I'm sorry.

He turned his hands over and grasped hers, feeling something ease in his chest.

"I'll take the carpetbag," Lucy said, and Ed knew she had seen, just as he knew Peter had seen, and both had seconded his acceptance of the apology.

"Susan will want the second-biggest suitcase," Susan said, ruefulness twisting her lips into something like a grimace.

"Not the biggest?" Ed asked playfully with a raised eyebrow, and Susan shook her head, but her grimace had turned into a gentle smile, so he was satisfied.

"It has a broken strap. She'd be ashamed to be seen carrying it."

"Ed, you take the biggest then, it'll hold all of your books," Peter said, his face seemingly innocent, but Edmund knew better.

"You've as many books as I do!" He protested, sure in his knowledge, because he had once counted them to defend this very point.

"Yes, but I won't be taking them. This last year of study is a bit beyond what I own; I'll just use the Professor's."

Figures. Maybe he won't mind if I borrow a few then? He quickly thought, but then was overruled by practicality.

"That will be fun to lug from the train station," He grumbled aloud, but then, catching Susan's flinch, he frowned.

What? He asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, but she just shook her head. Well, that's hardly fair, he thought, but let it slide, even as his subconscious was wondering if it was the train station, the thought of heavy loads, or his complaining that made her flinch.

"Well, with that settled, we should discuss what's happening more," Peter said in what Edmund liked to call his 'king voice'. Susan nodded, drawing her hands away from Ed's. "Susan, do you need us to come – wherever you have been? Could that be why you're back here?"

I doubt it. She seemed as surprised to see us as we were to see her.

And indeed, Susan confirmed his suspicions with a simple, "No." Even as her knuckles turned white as they gripped each other.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"No?" Lucy asked, on the verge of heartache, "But why, if you want us there – you do want us there, don't you?"

"I want you there more than I can say, Lucy. I mean it. But what I'm doing – I couldn't do it when I was twenty, not here, and not in Narnia. I can only do it as I am. It is not a task you can do." Susan's face was pale with a shadow of that grief they had witnessed earlier.

Inside, Edmund was frustrated, This is completely maddening! He thought, What in the worlds could have happened to transform her, to grieve her, to break her, and yet bring her back to Aslan?

"That makes sense," Lucy considered, and Edmund wished it made as much sense to him, "But if you're needed there, why are you here?"

"I do not know. I meant to walk to another world, one with another King, betrayed by his Queen. I was to counsel him as he grieved. But the door cracked before it could open. As we stood, watching the crack grow larger, everything vanished, and I was before my mirror." Susan glanced over at the cracked vanity with a smile, "I was not even very much surprised. The ones I walk with are…peculiar, and things seldom go to plan." Hesitant, she added, "Perhaps…one of those companions - the fussiest, grumpiest, most reliable one – has a door in London that leads to his house. Perhaps we should start by going to him?"

Edmund was curious, and indeed agreed that they should start there, though possibly not for the same reasons as Susan. No matter what she said, or didn't say, he was going to find out what had happened to his sister. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Author's Note:

So, I'm only really doing this because I accidentally misinterpreted BrokenKestral's offer for her to write a one-shot based on a different sibling's perspective. Because I am an idiot, I volunteered to write it (to my eternal mortification), but then she actually told me I should and what are you supposed to do at that point?

Anyway, so the original story has 5 chapters, but this is just the first, so you guys should totally go and read it because it's amazing ('Time Traveller' by BrokenKestral).

Review if you like because feedback makes me smile and want to write more!

Trix