Prompt #3: Did anyone ever try to climb the mountain to Aslan's country that Jill stood on in The Silver Chair? Where is its base? How would one reach it? (It is not required that you answer all the questions, just use them as a starting point.)

Time passed, empty of a Lion's roar, and Susan went to America. Peter was with the Professor, and she went with her parents. The younger two were with the Scrubbs. She didn't envy them. But she, Susan, felt a certain amount of satisfaction that she was chosen to go with her parents. It got her away from her siblings (from Narnia), and proved she was considered able to be presented in this world. In the real world.

The world that mattered. Narnia no longer did; and she had never mattered to Narnia. If she had had the opportunity in that thought to look in Aslan's eyes, she would have seen the rebuke in them, and the pain—that his beloved daughter thought such about her. But she could not, for he had barred her from his land.

Instead of thinking too deeply about Aslan, she pushed away the thoughts of his golden land, of the happiness they had had, and focused on the here and now. On the friends she was making: older friends, like Elena (the most stylish nineteen year old Susan had ever met, and who was clearly delighted with a young, impressionable girl she could manipulate), or Barbara (a fifteen year old who was trying to pretend she was grown up). Susan herself, two months shy of fourteen, was tall for her age and carried herself with an ease and grace found so rarely at her age that nobody suspected her of being so young. She was honestly a little surprised her parents allowed her all the freedoms they did.

Inside her cynical soul, though she could not express it to anyone, she grieved the childhood she was throwing away so readily: and when she put on smart silks and nylons and lipstick like blood, she tried not to think of the effortless beauty of Narnia. Lipstick, along with the bearing Narnia and queenship had taught her, aged her so that ignorant young men tried to flirt with her. To them she gave the Rabadash treatment, but saw through all their lies.

Narnia had been her school, but England (and the ship to America) was her working life. Susan tried not to think about how depressing it was. Still, there were parties almost every night on the ship, and Susan shone in them. Her hollowness was seen by nobody, and she deflected every question that might have tried to pierce to her soul.

She wasn't sure there was a soul below the mask anymore. Someday, perhaps, its ache would fade.

They reached America, Susan refused all offers of penpals, and spent the night of their arrival writing a twenty page letter to Edmund, which she ended up tearing up. Instead she wrote a prim little note advising him of their safe arrival and hoped he was having a pleasant holiday with the Scrubbs, though she knew he wouldn't be. She wanted to ask about church, but that thought ripped open the wound that she was trying to heal into silent scars, and refrained. Though Edmund sent her other letters in time, he never responded to that one.

Three days after arriving in America, after a late party during which she became slightly tipsy, Susan collapsed into bed tearless and emotional, longing for sleep to take her mind off everything. Instead she dreamed—dreamed of Narnia for almost the first time since Aslan abandoned her a year ago when Caspian was given the land she had been promised for eternity.

("Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen of Narnia.")

She was climbing a great cliff. Her hands were sore, tired, and bleeding. She could not rest, but kept on climbing. At the top was something she greatly desired, though it had been so long since she started the climb that she could no longer remember. She was in Narnian clothing, and she breathed Narnian air.

Above her, a distant summit loomed. Only a little way to go: and she had been countless ages finding her way already. Her hands no longer bled; they were scarred, impenetrable. But they were her hands no longer.

Susan climbed to the top, felt the softness of grass and dirt on her hands and pulled herself up. Perhaps because it was a dream, it was with little difficulty. She looked down, and saw the great distance, the clouds far below: an unimaginable height. Then she turned to the land itself, full of sunlight and trees and wonderful birds, and empty of humans. But before her stood a great shaggy Lion, so vast he filled almost all her vision. She wanted to run to him, to drown in his great understanding eyes, to bury her hands and face in his mane, to be a child again—

Something in Aslan's face stopped her for almost the first time in her life.

"This is my country. This is not your place, Queen Susan, not now: you cannot stay here. Return to your own world."

The dream dissolved, but not before she had the sensation of falling, and knew the distance below her was vast. And Susan of England was falling, away, away from Aslan's country.

Author's note: I'm sorry for the delay. In truth, I scared myself out of it, because I didn't expect such positive responses! I'm... honestly still not super happy with the last couple of chapters, and this one especially, but I hope you like it: please tell me what you think of it. Also, not sure it needs saying but don't worry, I'm not using Carpenter lyrics for the titles because I'm gonna give Susan anorexia or anything, it's literally just because I'm obsessed with them at the moment (wrote this chapter listening to Carpenters music, of course). Although the more research I do on Karen Carpenter the more I realise what a fascinating story giving one of the Friends of Narnia an eating disorder during a time eating disorders were so little known about would be, but this is not the story for that.

Oh, and for some reason I can't reply to dms at present, it keeps telling me I'm unable to dm this user, for everyone. So folks who have left reviews previously, thank you muchly for them (even though they intimidated me out of writing more in case I Let Y'all Down, lol). I really appreciate comments and criticism. (It's also interesting to write some of this stuff, reread and realise how deep the doubt runs in me, even though obviously I'm not losing my faith. I'm just a cynical kind of person, I guess.) Hopefully once I get that bug sorted out I'll respond to your reviews. Thankee!

If I got details wrong, sorry and please tell me. I had to kind of guess at her age.

(Chapter title from "This Masquerade".)

God keep you safe from harm.

—H