What's In a Kiss, chapter 5
Title: What's In a Kiss
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Peter/Susan, non-incestuous
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He always leaves her with a kiss. This Chapter - Susan is lost in her insecurities.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
A/N: This chap is longer than some of the earlier ones, but I think the rest of them will probably be this length, or somewhere around it. I've pretty much planned out this fic, so you can expect many more chapters to come! Thanks to everyone who gave feedback last chapter - I really can't stress enough how much I appreciate it. :D
This chapter also spans quite a bit of time. The first section picks up where we left off, with Susan at 12 years old. But later on it is indicated that two years have gone by, so she's 14.
Chapter Five - The Heart of a Queen
She becomes a Queen.
It happens so fast - Lucy discovering Narnia, Edmund's betrayal, Aslan sacrificing himself - that she barely has time to think. Her nerves are on edge the entire time, caught between worrying for her siblings and trying to reason her way through this new world, a world that shouldn't be real.
The night before her coronation, she stands in her chambers (her chambers, she can hardly believe it) examining her appearance. The blue gown she wears is the most gorgeous thing she has ever worn; she runs her hands down the fabric, her fingers delighting in the soft feel. Dark blue robes drape over her small shoulders, held in place by a gold brooch. Her black hair is curled and styled elegantly, and smells of some type of flower that she'd never smelled in Finchley.
She swallows hard, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Queens aren't supposed to be nervous, she thinks, and yet there is a part of her that argues that she is not a Queen, not really. She's twelve-years-old and there's no such thing as twelve-year-old Queens. Perhaps she's really just caught up in some imaginary game, something that Lucy invented to try to escape boredom at the Professor's house.
Susan imagines what her mother would say. She can see the woman in her mind's eye, laughing at this foolishness. "Oh, Susan, you're still such a child," she says, holding her close, amused at her daughter's vivid imagination.
Yet Susan has never had a vivid imagination. Her world is that of books and logic, of things she can touch and see. She can touch this fabric and see her reflection in the mirror, so this cannot all be a fantasy. In her fantasies, her freckles are absent. Now, they stand out on her cheekbones and across her nose.
More than that, if this was her fantasy, Edmund wouldn't have almost died. Susan would never dream of the white pain on his face, or the way his bloody fingers shook. She'd never dream of the hole in his side where he'd been stabbed by a Witch's sword, nor of his ragged, dying breaths. In her dreams, she wouldn't have cried over his body, fearing that his eyes would be closed forever. Her heart was too gentle for those kinds of fantasies.
Yes, she tells herself, smoothing her gown unnecessarily, this is very, very real.
--
She settles into life as a Queen; dinners served on silver plates, guards standing stiffly in the halls, visitors from other lands, and the never-ending, celebratory balls.
She watches her siblings grow, and the transformation Narnia has had on them is extraordinary. All traces of the kids from Finchley is gone from their faces as they stand tall and firm, proving themselves capable of being leaders.
Lucy proves herself to be quite the negotiator, bringing peace between all sorts of creatures and between foreign countries. No one can refuse her infectious smile and spirit. Edmund becomes known for his fair treatment of every person and every problem, and is always the best candidate to give advice. His dueling skills are also established as the stuff of legends.
And Peter is truly in his element. Full of love and compassion for his kingdom, he puts the Narnians before himself. His battle strategies are renowned and his good heart is apparent to anyone who looks upon him.
Susan feels lost among the titles of Valiant, Just, and Magnificent, and wonders what it means to be Gentle. She has no idea why Aslan thought that she, of all people, is worthy of a throne.
--
Edmund and Lucy skip a breakfast that Susan has helped the servants prepare, and walk past her so engrossed in conversation that they forget to say goodbye.
She follows them out to the stables and watches as they pack their horses in a rush. "What on earth is going on?" she asks them, and they turn to her as one, the expressions on their faces telling her that they hadn't even noticed her presence.
"Oh, sorry Susan!" says Lucy, giving her a fleeting hug. "We must go quickly, you see." And she continues to pack her horse.
"I don't see," says Susan, looking next to Edmund. Her brother has always hated feeling left out or ignored, so she hopes that at least he will explain something to her.
Edmund glances at her as he finishes his packing and goes to help Lucy with hers. "There's this horrible argument going on between the beavers and the badgers. The trees came to Lucy and told her it's quite serious and that someone may soon wind up hurt. We weren't told what exactly this is about, but we're going to put an end to it."
Susan picks up the saddle for her own horse and says, "Well, then I'll go with you."
Edmund and Lucy exchange a look, and Lucy turns to Susan while Edmund continues to pack her horse; Susan notices that he is decidedly not looking at her. "I know you want to help," Lucy tells her kindly, patting her hand consolingly, "but Ed and I aren't going to want to stop. We know that you like to rest a lot when you ride, but there really is no time. It's better that we go on without you, dear."
Susan sets her saddle back down and nods acceptingly. "Alright then, go. You're right, another person would probably slow you down."
Lucy kisses her and then goes over to Edmund. He takes her hand and lifts her so she can better get onto her horse (for she still is not quite tall enough to do it on her own), and then he mounts Philip.
"We're truly sorry to miss that breakfast you prepared, Su," he says, and his face surely is regretful. "I'm sure it tastes lovely."
"Well, I can bring out some biscuits for you," Susan offers, desperate to be useful. "I can be back in five minutes."
"Susan, there really is no time," says Lucy.
"Oh." She smiles. "Give my best to both the beavers and the badgers. I do hope whatever disagreement lies between them can be done away with."
They smile back and Ed says, "Sure hope so, Su."
Then they are gone.
--
"Your majesty?" says a voice, and Susan gives a half-smile as she looks down at a familiar face.
"Hello, Mr. Beaver," she says, beckoning for the animal to join her where she sits, on a stone bench in the gardens. In her hands is a half-finished wreath for Lucy. Her sister loves the bright yellow and purple flowers that seem to grow only in Narnia, and had gone on and on about making a wreath for her bedroom a few days ago. Susan has taken it upon herself to make the wreath for the younger girl, simply because she has the patience to make one. Lucy lacks the patience to sit still and weave the flowers together, preferring to choose activities that will allow her to run around and move.
Mr. Beaver climbs up the side of the bench to sit next to Susan, and gives her a furry smile.
"I heard of a disagreement between the beavers and badgers," says Susan. "Is everything quite alright?"
Mr. Beaver gives a tiny huff and then his smile comes back again. "It's all settled now, dear. Your majesties King Edmund and Queen Lucy helped a great deal."
Susan gives a short nod and plucks another flower from its stem to add to the wreath. "That's wonderful news."
"Yes, it is." Mr. Beaver pauses. "Highness, are you feeling well? You seem a bit under the weather."
Susan shakes her head. "I feel fine," she says.
"Yes?" prods Mr. Beaver, keen eyes focused on Susan's face. "I think I know you well enough to know when something's upset you."
Susan's cheeks flare a little at the scrutiny and she suddenly feels defensive. She's gone this long without anyone noticing how upset she's been and it's suited her. Susan has always been one to keep emotions inside, and she's always been fairly good at it. Once, her grandmother told her that emotion shown from a lady should be limited; a lady would never want to call too much attention to herself, or upset others with her troubles.
"Your majesty?" continues Mr. Beaver.
She doesn't answer, but continues to thread flowers onto the wreath. She knows that Mr. Beaver only has good intentions and that he cares very much for what's bothering her, but Susan doesn't really wish to speak with him. She doubts that Mr. Beaver would be able to understand her feelings, as he's never been asked to be a Queen, or a King for that matter.
Susan would much rather wish to talk with Lucy or Edmund or Peter about her insecurities, but she knows they won't understand either. It is perhaps this thought, that she cannot speak to her siblings about what she's going through, that bothers her most.
"Mr. Beaver," she says in what she knows is an artificially sweet tone, "I should think that the matters of a Queen don't concern you."
Mr. Beaver looks flustered for a moment, his tiny mouth open to form an 'o', and then he takes a step back, looking deeply ashamed and a little hurt. "I apologize if I offended you, my Queen," he says in a shaky voice.
He begins to crawl down the bench, defeated tail dragging behind him, and Susan tosses aside the wreath and buries her head in her hands. "Oh, I am simply horrid at this!" she exclaims, and Mr. Beaver turns around and looks up at her, blinking slowly.
She lifts her head after awhile, trying to appear as regal as possible, but this is made difficult by the tearstains on her face. "I apologize, Mr. Beaver. I shouldn't have said such a thing. I am just so bad at this. My remark wasn't very queenly, was it? This is all very much to take in. I don't deserve the crown that sits on my head, treating you that way. I don't deserve it at all, actually."
Mr. Beaver rushes back up the bench and takes Susan's small, delicate hand in his. "Oh, but your majesty. It was all in the prophecy! Two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve - "
"I know," whispers Susan. "It was destiny, I suppose. I just don't understand why destiny chose me."
Mr. Beaver's padded paw pats her hand. "Why, it's because you're beautiful."
Susan withdraws her hand and sighs.
--
As she brushes her hair, she thinks of her mother. The brush makes slow strokes down her long hair as she tries to picture her mother's face. But she struggles to remember if her mother's hair was dark like Edmund's or fair like Peter's. She tries to hear the sound of her mother's voice, the consoling tone she used whenever one of them was distressed.
Susan spends an hour trying to put together the pieces of her mother, but is unable to finish the puzzle. It makes her quite sad and tears roll down her face. She wipes them away and tries to remember other things about her old world; visits to the cinema, the sound of the radio, school, her friends. They flash before her eyes and she misses them.
Susan misses herself, too. In England, she was useful. In England, she was needed. Here, she is nothing.
Not for the first time, she wishes she could go home.
--
Susan walks across the fields behind the castle, her raven hair flying freely about her face, her bow clutched in her hands. Her gait is quick and determined, and the light dress she wears swishes fiercely around her legs. A brown sack is slung over her shoulder, bouncing against the side of her thigh as she breaks out into a run. Away from the castle, away from the pressure. She needs to be alone, unburdened by servants doing everything for her or the weighty talk of Narnian affairs. She needs to prove to herself that she is worthy.
When Susan reaches the edge of the fields where the wood begins, she stops running. Her eyes rove over the different trees and she settles on a tall oak; a few of its branches are parallel to the grass, four feet above the ground. She approaches the tree, slightly out of breath from her speedy sprint, and opens her brown sack.
Inside is several bright red apples, freshly picked by Peter and Lucy that morning. Peter had asked her if she wouldn't mind taking them down to the kitchens, as he had lots of papers on his desk that needed tending to. Susan requested to use a few of the apples for target practice and Peter shrugged and gave his blessing.
She arranges the apples in row along the jutting branch of the tree, then retreats a few yards, squinting at them in the distance. Satisfied, she reaches for an arrow and holds it against the grip of her bow, training her eyes to the first apple in the row.
As she zeroes in on the fruit, she can't help but think that archery seems to be the only thing she's good at it here. She hasn't had to use her bow and arrow much - just once, on a dwarf that was about to attack Edmund as he lay dying on the battlefield - but she practiced rather a lot. She can remember the first time she shot an arrow, nearly two years ago. It had hit the target, but not perfectly, and she had been a bit disappointed in herself. But over time, she's grown a lot more accurate. It's the one thing she can do that her siblings can't; all three of them have horrible aim.
"Perhaps it's because you won't let me use your bow," Edmund had said grumpily when he had practiced for several hours and missed the target each time. He held up his own bow sadly. "Mine isn't very well magical, now is it?"
At the time, Susan had rolled her eyes, amused. "Well, I don't see why I should let you use it," she said, holding up her own bow, "After all, you don't ask Lucy for her cordial or Peter for his sword, do you?"
Now, the word 'magical' repeats in her mind, and she hears it in Edmund's voice. She knows that he had been right, that the reason her arrows hit targets with such skill is because of its magic. It has nothing to do with her.
This awareness causes her fingers to shake as she pulls back the string and releases the arrow.
She misses.
--
Peter finds Susan in the armory room at 3:00 in the morning, wearing white nightrobes and slippers, her hands ranging over the swords hanging from the walls. She doesn't notice him come in, nor does she see the incredibly confused expression on his face as he glimpses her. Susan has never had a keen interest in weaponry, her own bow excluded; she once said that her heart ached to think of battle and death.
"Susan, what in Aslan's name are you doing?" asks Peter suddenly, and Susan turns around quickly, clutching her chest in fright.
"Goodness, Peter," she says, breathing heavily, "you frightened me."
Peter stands on the opposite side of the room, dressed fully in his royal clothing, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. He gives her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. Why are you here?"
Defensively, she shoots back, "Why are you here?"
Peter chuckles lightly. "I couldn't sleep."
Susan crosses her arms across her chest. "Me neither."
"Do you want to talk - "
"No."
Peter holds up his hands in defense. "A walk then?"
"I'm dressed improperly."
He unbuttons his tunic, hands it to her. She places it on over her robes and kicks off her slippers.
"The beach," says Peter knowingly, kneeling down to unlace his boots.
--
They walk along the shore, bare feet moving in sync through the sand. The beach outside Cair Paravel remains the most beautiful part of the land, in Susan's opinion, and it is a place where she truly feels free.
Peter doesn't speak, doesn't ask her why she was in the armory room or why she's been acting rather queer lately. This is something she's always relied on him for - Edmund would have been commenting on how weird she's behaving and Lucy would beg to know what was wrong. But Peter just lets her be, knowing that she'll reveal her mind to him if she wants to.
Now that he's here with her, that's all she wants to do. Susan doesn't for one second believe that he'll understand what she's going through, but he's her older brother. And she really can't keep these feelings inside of her, not anymore.
"I was in the armory room because I wanted to feel a sword in my hands," she says finally, breaking the silence. "I wanted to feel as you do. That you're here for a reason. That you're worthy."
She continues to talk, the words spilling easily from her lips. She's reminded of how easy it is to talk to Peter about her troubles, about anything, and she resolves never to keep something from him again.
When Susan finishes her monologue, Peter turns and looks at her. She squints at him through the blackness, trying to make out the features on his face, trying to read his expression. The moon in the sky is hidden by clouds, making it hard to see. The only thing that she can make out is the golden crown on his head, which sparkles.
He takes her hand. "Susan," he says, "oh, Susan. You were born to be a Queen, don't you see?"
"No," she replies skeptically, "I don't."
"You're the most logical person I know," he says admirably. "You think through absolutely everything. You're brilliantly smart. You have all the qualities you don't think you have, and more. You would do anything for your people, anything. And they love you - "
"What do they love? My beauty? Even Edmund and Lucy think I'm useless."
"Oh, rubbish! Edmund and Lucy love you and look up to you."
"Mr. Beaver said I was beautiful, as if the way I look is all that matters."
"That's rubbish, too. He said you were beautiful, yes, but I doubt he was referring to just your looks. Though you are beautiful, it's your heart that matters. And you, dear sister, have a beautiful heart. That's what Mr. Beaver meant, I'm sure." He pauses, and her eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that she can see his bemused expression. "If he was referring to just your outer beauty, why, I'll turn him into a hat. And then offer it to you as a gift."
Susan can't help but smile at that. Peter's thumbs brush across her knuckles as he continues his dialogue. "Even so, it doesn't matter what people say, either. Your heart is beautiful. It's a sacrificial heart, I'm certain."
"Sacrificial?" she says, confused.
"Oh, you know what 'sacrificial' means, you silly," says Peter. "Back home you would give your lunch to anyone without one, no second thoughts. Here, you always accompany Lucy when she needs to use her cordial on someone, even though I know you hate to see others in pain. You run this castle and put up with the maids and the linens while Ed and I (and sometimes Lucy) do things that are sometimes more exciting. And you're the best archer Narnia has seen, everyone knows that. I know that you'd kill in battle, not out of want, but because you care so much for this land and its people. If that isn't the mark of a Queen, I don't know what is."
Susan takes her hand out of his and presses it morosely against her forehead. "But my bow has failed me. My arrows don't strike anymore. I don't know why, for it is magical. Perhaps I'm not really meant to have it."
"You are meant to have it," says Peter sharply. "Father Christmas gave it to you, no one else."
"But I miss. Why do I miss?"
"Do you trust?"
Susan furrows her brow. "What?"
"Do you trust in the bow?"
"Of course I do! It's magical! How could I not?"
"Well, then perhaps you miss because you do not trust in yourself," says Peter sensibly.
The logic of his words leaves Susan momentarily speechless as she realizes that her brother is absolutely right. Peter takes this moment to take hold of her hand again.
"It doesn't matter how many of us believe and trust in you," speaks Peter boldly. "What matters is your belief and trust in yourself. You are a Queen, Susan, and I know that if you accept yourself, you'll be a magnificent one. And the rest of us - Lu, Ed, myself - we wouldn't be anything without you. Please see that."
Susan has never seen Peter look so earnest as he does now, holding her hand with both of his, pressing them against his heart ardently. His blue eyes shine at her with encouragement and devotion, and she believes. Believes in what he's saying and in herself, and she lets out a breath of relief and thanks. A small smile makes its way across her face and Peter's face breaks its seriousness as he smiles, too.
They resume walking, and Susan feels different somehow. She feels worthy, and it's something she's never felt before.
She and Peter continue to talk, but of nothing that she will remember later. All she will remember is Peter's steadfastness in her.
Their walk is interrupted after a few hours have passed, when the sun has risen in the sky and Oreius finds them on the beach. He calls Peter to the castle to discuss the arrangements for a visit from the King of Archenland. Peter reluctantly looks over at Susan and she sees that he doesn't want to leave her, but she shakes her head and sacrifices his company because she knows it is the right thing to do. He has more important things to do than walk along the beach with his sister.
"Always remember what I've said, Queen," he tells her, and she nods, her heart swelling with love at his emphasis of her title.
"I will, High King," she responds softly.
He bows to her then and leaves a kiss on her hand, and then he turns to Oreius. But Susan is sure that his words will stay with her forever.
She watches him walk away, becoming smaller and smaller until he is nothing but a dot against the red sun. She thinks of her mother, and how proud she would be of Peter, of all of them, and she can suddenly see her mother's hair (dark) and hear her mother's consoling tone (a whisper of, "Your brother's right, Susan").
For the first time, she feels royal and Narnia feels like home.
--
She releases the arrow. It rips through the air and strikes the apple, slicing it neatly in two.
--
He kisses her to reassure her.
--
Read the next chapter here! ♥
I took up the claim for Peter/Susan @ narnia_100 - you can check out some icons HERE.
If you're new to this journal and wish to read more of my Narnia fic, or fic I've written for other fandoms, you can check out my whole big list of fanfic HERE. Also, I'm slowly starting to update my account at fanfiction.net with all my fanfic, both new and old, so if you'd like to check things out there, my profile is HERE.
Lastly, if you'd like updates on this fic, please feel free to friend this journal! I update here and sometimes it takes me a few days to post the chapter links to all the comms I'm in.
Please review!
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia
Pairing: Peter/Susan, non-incestuous
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He always leaves her with a kiss. This Chapter - Susan is lost in her insecurities.
Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4
A/N: This chap is longer than some of the earlier ones, but I think the rest of them will probably be this length, or somewhere around it. I've pretty much planned out this fic, so you can expect many more chapters to come! Thanks to everyone who gave feedback last chapter - I really can't stress enough how much I appreciate it. :D
This chapter also spans quite a bit of time. The first section picks up where we left off, with Susan at 12 years old. But later on it is indicated that two years have gone by, so she's 14.
Chapter Five - The Heart of a Queen
She becomes a Queen.
It happens so fast - Lucy discovering Narnia, Edmund's betrayal, Aslan sacrificing himself - that she barely has time to think. Her nerves are on edge the entire time, caught between worrying for her siblings and trying to reason her way through this new world, a world that shouldn't be real.
The night before her coronation, she stands in her chambers (her chambers, she can hardly believe it) examining her appearance. The blue gown she wears is the most gorgeous thing she has ever worn; she runs her hands down the fabric, her fingers delighting in the soft feel. Dark blue robes drape over her small shoulders, held in place by a gold brooch. Her black hair is curled and styled elegantly, and smells of some type of flower that she'd never smelled in Finchley.
She swallows hard, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Queens aren't supposed to be nervous, she thinks, and yet there is a part of her that argues that she is not a Queen, not really. She's twelve-years-old and there's no such thing as twelve-year-old Queens. Perhaps she's really just caught up in some imaginary game, something that Lucy invented to try to escape boredom at the Professor's house.
Susan imagines what her mother would say. She can see the woman in her mind's eye, laughing at this foolishness. "Oh, Susan, you're still such a child," she says, holding her close, amused at her daughter's vivid imagination.
Yet Susan has never had a vivid imagination. Her world is that of books and logic, of things she can touch and see. She can touch this fabric and see her reflection in the mirror, so this cannot all be a fantasy. In her fantasies, her freckles are absent. Now, they stand out on her cheekbones and across her nose.
More than that, if this was her fantasy, Edmund wouldn't have almost died. Susan would never dream of the white pain on his face, or the way his bloody fingers shook. She'd never dream of the hole in his side where he'd been stabbed by a Witch's sword, nor of his ragged, dying breaths. In her dreams, she wouldn't have cried over his body, fearing that his eyes would be closed forever. Her heart was too gentle for those kinds of fantasies.
Yes, she tells herself, smoothing her gown unnecessarily, this is very, very real.
--
She settles into life as a Queen; dinners served on silver plates, guards standing stiffly in the halls, visitors from other lands, and the never-ending, celebratory balls.
She watches her siblings grow, and the transformation Narnia has had on them is extraordinary. All traces of the kids from Finchley is gone from their faces as they stand tall and firm, proving themselves capable of being leaders.
Lucy proves herself to be quite the negotiator, bringing peace between all sorts of creatures and between foreign countries. No one can refuse her infectious smile and spirit. Edmund becomes known for his fair treatment of every person and every problem, and is always the best candidate to give advice. His dueling skills are also established as the stuff of legends.
And Peter is truly in his element. Full of love and compassion for his kingdom, he puts the Narnians before himself. His battle strategies are renowned and his good heart is apparent to anyone who looks upon him.
Susan feels lost among the titles of Valiant, Just, and Magnificent, and wonders what it means to be Gentle. She has no idea why Aslan thought that she, of all people, is worthy of a throne.
--
Edmund and Lucy skip a breakfast that Susan has helped the servants prepare, and walk past her so engrossed in conversation that they forget to say goodbye.
She follows them out to the stables and watches as they pack their horses in a rush. "What on earth is going on?" she asks them, and they turn to her as one, the expressions on their faces telling her that they hadn't even noticed her presence.
"Oh, sorry Susan!" says Lucy, giving her a fleeting hug. "We must go quickly, you see." And she continues to pack her horse.
"I don't see," says Susan, looking next to Edmund. Her brother has always hated feeling left out or ignored, so she hopes that at least he will explain something to her.
Edmund glances at her as he finishes his packing and goes to help Lucy with hers. "There's this horrible argument going on between the beavers and the badgers. The trees came to Lucy and told her it's quite serious and that someone may soon wind up hurt. We weren't told what exactly this is about, but we're going to put an end to it."
Susan picks up the saddle for her own horse and says, "Well, then I'll go with you."
Edmund and Lucy exchange a look, and Lucy turns to Susan while Edmund continues to pack her horse; Susan notices that he is decidedly not looking at her. "I know you want to help," Lucy tells her kindly, patting her hand consolingly, "but Ed and I aren't going to want to stop. We know that you like to rest a lot when you ride, but there really is no time. It's better that we go on without you, dear."
Susan sets her saddle back down and nods acceptingly. "Alright then, go. You're right, another person would probably slow you down."
Lucy kisses her and then goes over to Edmund. He takes her hand and lifts her so she can better get onto her horse (for she still is not quite tall enough to do it on her own), and then he mounts Philip.
"We're truly sorry to miss that breakfast you prepared, Su," he says, and his face surely is regretful. "I'm sure it tastes lovely."
"Well, I can bring out some biscuits for you," Susan offers, desperate to be useful. "I can be back in five minutes."
"Susan, there really is no time," says Lucy.
"Oh." She smiles. "Give my best to both the beavers and the badgers. I do hope whatever disagreement lies between them can be done away with."
They smile back and Ed says, "Sure hope so, Su."
Then they are gone.
--
"Your majesty?" says a voice, and Susan gives a half-smile as she looks down at a familiar face.
"Hello, Mr. Beaver," she says, beckoning for the animal to join her where she sits, on a stone bench in the gardens. In her hands is a half-finished wreath for Lucy. Her sister loves the bright yellow and purple flowers that seem to grow only in Narnia, and had gone on and on about making a wreath for her bedroom a few days ago. Susan has taken it upon herself to make the wreath for the younger girl, simply because she has the patience to make one. Lucy lacks the patience to sit still and weave the flowers together, preferring to choose activities that will allow her to run around and move.
Mr. Beaver climbs up the side of the bench to sit next to Susan, and gives her a furry smile.
"I heard of a disagreement between the beavers and badgers," says Susan. "Is everything quite alright?"
Mr. Beaver gives a tiny huff and then his smile comes back again. "It's all settled now, dear. Your majesties King Edmund and Queen Lucy helped a great deal."
Susan gives a short nod and plucks another flower from its stem to add to the wreath. "That's wonderful news."
"Yes, it is." Mr. Beaver pauses. "Highness, are you feeling well? You seem a bit under the weather."
Susan shakes her head. "I feel fine," she says.
"Yes?" prods Mr. Beaver, keen eyes focused on Susan's face. "I think I know you well enough to know when something's upset you."
Susan's cheeks flare a little at the scrutiny and she suddenly feels defensive. She's gone this long without anyone noticing how upset she's been and it's suited her. Susan has always been one to keep emotions inside, and she's always been fairly good at it. Once, her grandmother told her that emotion shown from a lady should be limited; a lady would never want to call too much attention to herself, or upset others with her troubles.
"Your majesty?" continues Mr. Beaver.
She doesn't answer, but continues to thread flowers onto the wreath. She knows that Mr. Beaver only has good intentions and that he cares very much for what's bothering her, but Susan doesn't really wish to speak with him. She doubts that Mr. Beaver would be able to understand her feelings, as he's never been asked to be a Queen, or a King for that matter.
Susan would much rather wish to talk with Lucy or Edmund or Peter about her insecurities, but she knows they won't understand either. It is perhaps this thought, that she cannot speak to her siblings about what she's going through, that bothers her most.
"Mr. Beaver," she says in what she knows is an artificially sweet tone, "I should think that the matters of a Queen don't concern you."
Mr. Beaver looks flustered for a moment, his tiny mouth open to form an 'o', and then he takes a step back, looking deeply ashamed and a little hurt. "I apologize if I offended you, my Queen," he says in a shaky voice.
He begins to crawl down the bench, defeated tail dragging behind him, and Susan tosses aside the wreath and buries her head in her hands. "Oh, I am simply horrid at this!" she exclaims, and Mr. Beaver turns around and looks up at her, blinking slowly.
She lifts her head after awhile, trying to appear as regal as possible, but this is made difficult by the tearstains on her face. "I apologize, Mr. Beaver. I shouldn't have said such a thing. I am just so bad at this. My remark wasn't very queenly, was it? This is all very much to take in. I don't deserve the crown that sits on my head, treating you that way. I don't deserve it at all, actually."
Mr. Beaver rushes back up the bench and takes Susan's small, delicate hand in his. "Oh, but your majesty. It was all in the prophecy! Two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve - "
"I know," whispers Susan. "It was destiny, I suppose. I just don't understand why destiny chose me."
Mr. Beaver's padded paw pats her hand. "Why, it's because you're beautiful."
Susan withdraws her hand and sighs.
--
As she brushes her hair, she thinks of her mother. The brush makes slow strokes down her long hair as she tries to picture her mother's face. But she struggles to remember if her mother's hair was dark like Edmund's or fair like Peter's. She tries to hear the sound of her mother's voice, the consoling tone she used whenever one of them was distressed.
Susan spends an hour trying to put together the pieces of her mother, but is unable to finish the puzzle. It makes her quite sad and tears roll down her face. She wipes them away and tries to remember other things about her old world; visits to the cinema, the sound of the radio, school, her friends. They flash before her eyes and she misses them.
Susan misses herself, too. In England, she was useful. In England, she was needed. Here, she is nothing.
Not for the first time, she wishes she could go home.
--
Susan walks across the fields behind the castle, her raven hair flying freely about her face, her bow clutched in her hands. Her gait is quick and determined, and the light dress she wears swishes fiercely around her legs. A brown sack is slung over her shoulder, bouncing against the side of her thigh as she breaks out into a run. Away from the castle, away from the pressure. She needs to be alone, unburdened by servants doing everything for her or the weighty talk of Narnian affairs. She needs to prove to herself that she is worthy.
When Susan reaches the edge of the fields where the wood begins, she stops running. Her eyes rove over the different trees and she settles on a tall oak; a few of its branches are parallel to the grass, four feet above the ground. She approaches the tree, slightly out of breath from her speedy sprint, and opens her brown sack.
Inside is several bright red apples, freshly picked by Peter and Lucy that morning. Peter had asked her if she wouldn't mind taking them down to the kitchens, as he had lots of papers on his desk that needed tending to. Susan requested to use a few of the apples for target practice and Peter shrugged and gave his blessing.
She arranges the apples in row along the jutting branch of the tree, then retreats a few yards, squinting at them in the distance. Satisfied, she reaches for an arrow and holds it against the grip of her bow, training her eyes to the first apple in the row.
As she zeroes in on the fruit, she can't help but think that archery seems to be the only thing she's good at it here. She hasn't had to use her bow and arrow much - just once, on a dwarf that was about to attack Edmund as he lay dying on the battlefield - but she practiced rather a lot. She can remember the first time she shot an arrow, nearly two years ago. It had hit the target, but not perfectly, and she had been a bit disappointed in herself. But over time, she's grown a lot more accurate. It's the one thing she can do that her siblings can't; all three of them have horrible aim.
"Perhaps it's because you won't let me use your bow," Edmund had said grumpily when he had practiced for several hours and missed the target each time. He held up his own bow sadly. "Mine isn't very well magical, now is it?"
At the time, Susan had rolled her eyes, amused. "Well, I don't see why I should let you use it," she said, holding up her own bow, "After all, you don't ask Lucy for her cordial or Peter for his sword, do you?"
Now, the word 'magical' repeats in her mind, and she hears it in Edmund's voice. She knows that he had been right, that the reason her arrows hit targets with such skill is because of its magic. It has nothing to do with her.
This awareness causes her fingers to shake as she pulls back the string and releases the arrow.
She misses.
--
Peter finds Susan in the armory room at 3:00 in the morning, wearing white nightrobes and slippers, her hands ranging over the swords hanging from the walls. She doesn't notice him come in, nor does she see the incredibly confused expression on his face as he glimpses her. Susan has never had a keen interest in weaponry, her own bow excluded; she once said that her heart ached to think of battle and death.
"Susan, what in Aslan's name are you doing?" asks Peter suddenly, and Susan turns around quickly, clutching her chest in fright.
"Goodness, Peter," she says, breathing heavily, "you frightened me."
Peter stands on the opposite side of the room, dressed fully in his royal clothing, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword. He gives her an apologetic glance. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. Why are you here?"
Defensively, she shoots back, "Why are you here?"
Peter chuckles lightly. "I couldn't sleep."
Susan crosses her arms across her chest. "Me neither."
"Do you want to talk - "
"No."
Peter holds up his hands in defense. "A walk then?"
"I'm dressed improperly."
He unbuttons his tunic, hands it to her. She places it on over her robes and kicks off her slippers.
"The beach," says Peter knowingly, kneeling down to unlace his boots.
--
They walk along the shore, bare feet moving in sync through the sand. The beach outside Cair Paravel remains the most beautiful part of the land, in Susan's opinion, and it is a place where she truly feels free.
Peter doesn't speak, doesn't ask her why she was in the armory room or why she's been acting rather queer lately. This is something she's always relied on him for - Edmund would have been commenting on how weird she's behaving and Lucy would beg to know what was wrong. But Peter just lets her be, knowing that she'll reveal her mind to him if she wants to.
Now that he's here with her, that's all she wants to do. Susan doesn't for one second believe that he'll understand what she's going through, but he's her older brother. And she really can't keep these feelings inside of her, not anymore.
"I was in the armory room because I wanted to feel a sword in my hands," she says finally, breaking the silence. "I wanted to feel as you do. That you're here for a reason. That you're worthy."
She continues to talk, the words spilling easily from her lips. She's reminded of how easy it is to talk to Peter about her troubles, about anything, and she resolves never to keep something from him again.
When Susan finishes her monologue, Peter turns and looks at her. She squints at him through the blackness, trying to make out the features on his face, trying to read his expression. The moon in the sky is hidden by clouds, making it hard to see. The only thing that she can make out is the golden crown on his head, which sparkles.
He takes her hand. "Susan," he says, "oh, Susan. You were born to be a Queen, don't you see?"
"No," she replies skeptically, "I don't."
"You're the most logical person I know," he says admirably. "You think through absolutely everything. You're brilliantly smart. You have all the qualities you don't think you have, and more. You would do anything for your people, anything. And they love you - "
"What do they love? My beauty? Even Edmund and Lucy think I'm useless."
"Oh, rubbish! Edmund and Lucy love you and look up to you."
"Mr. Beaver said I was beautiful, as if the way I look is all that matters."
"That's rubbish, too. He said you were beautiful, yes, but I doubt he was referring to just your looks. Though you are beautiful, it's your heart that matters. And you, dear sister, have a beautiful heart. That's what Mr. Beaver meant, I'm sure." He pauses, and her eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that she can see his bemused expression. "If he was referring to just your outer beauty, why, I'll turn him into a hat. And then offer it to you as a gift."
Susan can't help but smile at that. Peter's thumbs brush across her knuckles as he continues his dialogue. "Even so, it doesn't matter what people say, either. Your heart is beautiful. It's a sacrificial heart, I'm certain."
"Sacrificial?" she says, confused.
"Oh, you know what 'sacrificial' means, you silly," says Peter. "Back home you would give your lunch to anyone without one, no second thoughts. Here, you always accompany Lucy when she needs to use her cordial on someone, even though I know you hate to see others in pain. You run this castle and put up with the maids and the linens while Ed and I (and sometimes Lucy) do things that are sometimes more exciting. And you're the best archer Narnia has seen, everyone knows that. I know that you'd kill in battle, not out of want, but because you care so much for this land and its people. If that isn't the mark of a Queen, I don't know what is."
Susan takes her hand out of his and presses it morosely against her forehead. "But my bow has failed me. My arrows don't strike anymore. I don't know why, for it is magical. Perhaps I'm not really meant to have it."
"You are meant to have it," says Peter sharply. "Father Christmas gave it to you, no one else."
"But I miss. Why do I miss?"
"Do you trust?"
Susan furrows her brow. "What?"
"Do you trust in the bow?"
"Of course I do! It's magical! How could I not?"
"Well, then perhaps you miss because you do not trust in yourself," says Peter sensibly.
The logic of his words leaves Susan momentarily speechless as she realizes that her brother is absolutely right. Peter takes this moment to take hold of her hand again.
"It doesn't matter how many of us believe and trust in you," speaks Peter boldly. "What matters is your belief and trust in yourself. You are a Queen, Susan, and I know that if you accept yourself, you'll be a magnificent one. And the rest of us - Lu, Ed, myself - we wouldn't be anything without you. Please see that."
Susan has never seen Peter look so earnest as he does now, holding her hand with both of his, pressing them against his heart ardently. His blue eyes shine at her with encouragement and devotion, and she believes. Believes in what he's saying and in herself, and she lets out a breath of relief and thanks. A small smile makes its way across her face and Peter's face breaks its seriousness as he smiles, too.
They resume walking, and Susan feels different somehow. She feels worthy, and it's something she's never felt before.
She and Peter continue to talk, but of nothing that she will remember later. All she will remember is Peter's steadfastness in her.
Their walk is interrupted after a few hours have passed, when the sun has risen in the sky and Oreius finds them on the beach. He calls Peter to the castle to discuss the arrangements for a visit from the King of Archenland. Peter reluctantly looks over at Susan and she sees that he doesn't want to leave her, but she shakes her head and sacrifices his company because she knows it is the right thing to do. He has more important things to do than walk along the beach with his sister.
"Always remember what I've said, Queen," he tells her, and she nods, her heart swelling with love at his emphasis of her title.
"I will, High King," she responds softly.
He bows to her then and leaves a kiss on her hand, and then he turns to Oreius. But Susan is sure that his words will stay with her forever.
She watches him walk away, becoming smaller and smaller until he is nothing but a dot against the red sun. She thinks of her mother, and how proud she would be of Peter, of all of them, and she can suddenly see her mother's hair (dark) and hear her mother's consoling tone (a whisper of, "Your brother's right, Susan").
For the first time, she feels royal and Narnia feels like home.
--
She releases the arrow. It rips through the air and strikes the apple, slicing it neatly in two.
--
He kisses her to reassure her.
--
Read the next chapter here! ♥
I took up the claim for Peter/Susan @ narnia_100 - you can check out some icons HERE.
If you're new to this journal and wish to read more of my Narnia fic, or fic I've written for other fandoms, you can check out my whole big list of fanfic HERE. Also, I'm slowly starting to update my account at fanfiction.net with all my fanfic, both new and old, so if you'd like to check things out there, my profile is HERE.
Lastly, if you'd like updates on this fic, please feel free to friend this journal! I update here and sometimes it takes me a few days to post the chapter links to all the comms I'm in.
Please review!