Disclaimer: not mine, merely written for ScribeofHeroes to finish; her idea entirely!

"How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a weary world."

~ William Shakespeare, though I first heard it in Willy Wonka

Setting the white plate in the cabinet didn't normally have a sense of ritual to it, but this time—the last time for a while—Susan let her fingers linger. Another family would be using the house; Harry's father had finally agreed to move. They'd keep a room for Susan, but…this wouldn't be hers any longer.

At least this was a goodbye she'd chosen.

Shutting the cabinet door, she turned to go collect her things from her room, and saw the Doorkeeper standing in the doorway. She raised one eyebrow at him. "You didn't knock." She'd long gotten over the surprise of having him pop up in her space and time.

"Oh. Careless of me. Yes, I suppose I am preoccupied." He sighed. "Let's sit down."

She turned to collect two teacups and put over the cinnamon tea—one of his more unremarkable favourites, one she'd finally asked him to give her to keep at her house so he could have some there but that wouldn't bring any comments from her friends—and heard him pulling the chair out at the table.

His own, of course. He had good manners, but not princely ones.

The water boiled shortly, and she poured it into the teapot. Setting pot and cups on the table, she was beginning to sit herself when she heard heavy steps in the corridor, the gait off from a human's. Hope flared in her heart, strong and warm, as she looked at the Doorkeeper.

"Yes, I brought him with me. I know he likes—" The rest of his sentence was lost as Susan swept around the table and into the hall, to throw her arms around Huan's warm neck. He snorted, warm breath washing over her back, and his heavy head rested on her shoulder for a moment. Then he nudged her backwards, gently, herding her back towards the table and her tea.

"I didn't think you liked bringing him to England," Susan remarked. Huan, twisting his head to the side a little, took one side of the chair in his mouth and pulled it out for her. She rested her left hand on his head, scratching behind his ears, as she lifted her teacup with the other.

"I don't. But he's been getting lonely."

Thud, thud, thud. Her heart ached with every beat at the thought of him, alone, in the forest. "It's just as well I'm going on more trips, then. We'll be together more."

"Yes. But this was a little something I could do in the meantime. But speaking of trips! I want your opinion on this one."

Susan waited for more.

"It's not that this person doesn't need help. If he didn't, we wouldn't be discussing him! But I am not sure he is able to be helped. Even by one so skilled as you."

That, Susan could understand. There were wounds that went so deep only Aslan's voice could go deeper still. Still, compassion often came through the voice and hands of Aslan's own. "Tell me more about him."

"This one...hmmm, perhaps I should say first that he's a child." Susan set down her teacup. "A very intelligent child. He experienced a tragedy some months ago—the loss of both his parents."

"Oh," Susan said softly. "Does he have older siblings?"

"No. A butler, who is more like a grandfather, but…he is alone. Only he isn't, and that is the problem. He's wealthy enough everyone knows about his loss, and famous enough the silly fools in the world think they already know how he must feel and what he must need. I haven't much patience for fools; they're the furthest things from Walkers. And I am not one myself. Most of the time. He needs a listening ear, and that I know you can provide."

"There isn't anyone who listens to him?"

"They try. Those close to him want him to, but he keeps it all inside. He fears writing them down for the chance one of his caregivers will find and read them. He has also come to doubt both the existence and goodness of God, and thus he has truly had nothing but his own mind for his darkening thoughts to echo in for far too long." The Doorkeeper paused. "The darkness is heavy enough I am not sure even you could pull him out," he added gently. "To the grief is added something you did not experience—injustice."

"If the darkness is that deep, it is all the more vital that light should shine—even if he will not take it."

"As you say. You are welcome to try. But do not…oh, blame yourself, or some such nonsense, if he cannot hear how you respond. Whatever that response may be."

There—that was the voice of her friend. "I will seek Aslan's peace about it."

"Then I suppose we should be off."

"You haven't finished your tea," Susan noticed, rising. The Doorkeeper must be troubled indeed, to leave food or tea to be wasted.

"So, I haven't. Well, I'll finish it while you're with him. While keeping an ear and eye on you."

What a delightful thought, Edmund would have said once. But Susan did not say it. The Doorkeeper always needed a little more patience in those around him when he was nervous.

But as he walked before her to the door, opening first the physical door for her, and then waving her through the other door he had opened, Susan wondered what this boy would be like, that he unnerved her friend so much?

Give BrokenKestral some love by way of reviews guys!

God bless

ScribeofHeroes