Chapter Text
Susan supposed that in some ways, deep down, she hated Aslan. Not all of her despised him, but the part was there none the less. She despised Narnia and the wardrobe and the magic and the entire land that she had grown to love so dearly and rule so kindly as too be given the name Queen Susan the Gentle. Ruler of the golden age of Narnia alongside her brothers and sister.
Until she wasn’t.
Until she was a girl, sitting on the ground outside a wardrobe in a big house in the countryside of a war-ravaged world.
The initial transition back to life in England had been hard enough. Here she was no longer a queen, but someone to be looked after as she was forced to grow up again. Still, she still always had hope, even if she never said it. Hope she could return to Narnia and her friends and the life she had come to love. No more school, no more petty arguments about how she should or shouldn’t dress, nor fights with friends over gossip and boys.
Ug, she would think to herself, it always comes back to boys.
“Oh, Susan, any man would be lucky to have a wife like you!”
And, “No time to waste, my dear, your clock is ticking!!”
She didn’t have that in Narnia, and she didn’t need that in Narnia. But here she did. The makeup and the clothes and the parties and the gossip. Her clock was ticking, and heaven forbid it run out before she could find a respectable man to build a family with. But even after returning to Narnia the life she once had was lost. Time had moved on there, as it always does--very differently than at home, so they did what they could before her journey with Narnia ended.
And it was Aslan himself who had made that quite clear.
So, she did what she must. Carry on in the world, continue her studies, and become who the world wanted to become- a beautiful young woman, respected and fawned over, a true society lady. And because respectable young women do not speak of being queens and warriors in a magic land found inside a wardrobe, she did not speak of their adventures at all, to the point where even her sister Lucy came to think that she no long believed in Narnia and their adventures there. She allowed herself to be molded and formed, not into who she was but what the world believed she needed to become.
At times she regretted this. Late and lonely nights where she was alone in her flat with nothing but her memories to keep her company. But even if now she wanted to talk to her younger sister or her brothers about it she knew that was impossible.
The other Pevensie children were dead.
It was a train crash. Brutal and violent and merciless, leaving Queen Susan the Gentle, Daughter of Eve and High Queen of Narnia, utterly alone. And that, she came to realize, is why the part of her, the part she didn’t like to talk about or pay any notice to, was there- the part that despised Aslan and Narnia and the magical land she had once called home.
It had been Aslan, or whoever he was in her world, that had taken them from her.
One of these lonely nights which eventually grew into a lonely day drove her out of her flat and to the local coffee house. She needed to stop isolating herself, her therapist had said. It’s amazing how, even living in an apartment with 3 other students, she could isolate herself for days. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was living with close friends. She didn’t really have any of those here. They more existed within the same space, only rarely interacting with each other on account of their vastly different schedules. So the coffee house, that would work. She could sit alone with her work and still be around people. A compromise.
Susan left her flat for the short walk to coffee shop. Fall was in full effect as a slight breeze rippled through her hair. The door chimed as she entered the shop and selected a small round table in the corner. Sighing softly, she sat down and opened her computer.
Shit.
There was an unread email from her creative writing professor. They were supposed to pick a partner to peer review the fantasy stories they had been working on. Or, in Susan’s case, should have been working on. She had written nothing. Clicking the link to the document containing the partner list she realized there was only a single student left who still needed a partner.
Darling, W.
Susan didn’t recognize the name, which was by design. She tried as much as possible to not interact with the other students in her classes, and was very good at it. She typed her name next in the blank space and opened an email to Darling, W.
Hello,
My name is Susan and I am one of the students your creative writing class, and it appears we are partners for the fantasy story review. Is there a time you would like to meet? I am free all today and will most likely be at the Copper Cup Coffee Shoppe until about 6, if that works at all for you.
Thank you,
Susan Pevensie
She sent the email and the reply was almost instantaneous.
Hello Susan!
Today would be great! Is around 1:30 okay?
-Wendy Darling
Susan replied, saying that 1:30 would be perfect. The only problem was she didn’t have a story to review. She looked long and hard at the blank document open in front of her. Creative writing had never been her strength. The only reason she took the class was that she needed a credit. Still, she had a thought of what she could do, but the idea of committing everything to paper let alone allowing others to read it scared her. But it was a fairly unbelievable story. Names could be changed, and her therapist had been encouraging her to write more about her past. Plus, over an hour had passed without any new ideas, and she was desperate. She wasn’t very imaginative, and much preferred to write about real life scenarios, so that’s what she did. It wasn’t her fault if everyone thought it was fiction.
Once, not so long ago, there were four siblings….
Wendy Darling walked into Copper Cup Coffee Shoppe at 1:25, prepared to meet with this Susan Pevensie girl. She had her laptop, a printed out copy of her story, and half a dozen different coloured pens. Surveying the restaurant, Wendy searched for the girl who’s profile picture she had seen. That was the nice thing about the internet, she thought, you can always find who you’re looking for.
She spotted her sitting in the corner, papers spread around her and typing furiously on a laptop. Long dark brown hair with a slight wave, soft red lips, a few freckles…just like her profile picture. Her hair was styled in a strange way, as if she were a girl in the ’40s, Wendy noticed. It made her look more mature, almost matronly. It was a striking contrast to Wendy’s own short, honey coloured hair, always slightly messy and almost never “done.” She put a bow in it on occasion, but that was rare. She made her way over to the table and introduced herself.
“Susan Pevensie? Hi! I’m Wendy. Wendy Darling.”
“Oh,” Susan looked up from her computer, “Hi.”
Wendy pulled up a chair, sat down, and began talking
“Okay, so I brought a hard copy of my story but also a digital one, so whatever you prefer is alright with me. Also, I have coloured pens if you need something different to write in. Do you want a little preview of my story or to just dive right into it?”
“Um,” Susan began processing Wendy’s rapid-fire speech, “Uh, it’s okay. I’ll just start with the story. And mine…isn’t quite a story yet. It’s more of a detailed outline…and it's only on my computer. Sorry.”
“It’s okay! Not a problem, I get it. I personally try to avoid homework at all costs, this was probably the only exception. I actually had something to write about!”
“Yeah, same here,” Susan said absently, “Ready to switch?”
Wendy nodded enthusiastically. Wow, Susan thought. This girl was ready to go. She couldn’t help but watch her for a minute as her blue eyes looked over the computer screen, like a little kid with a brand new book. At least someone was enjoying this project.
Susan began to read through Wendy’s story. She had written a lot. She was slowly captivated by Wendy’s words. It was a story about three siblings who meet a mysterious boy that flies them to a magical new land, an island where they would never grow up. There were fairies and pirates and mermaids and everything a kid could want. Except, it was revealed, a mother and the chance to grow up. So, ultimately, after fights with pirates and malicious mermaids the three siblings left, back to the real world.
Susan was mesmerized by the story. The descriptions of the scenery and the people were so vivid and detailed it felt like a real place. And on top of that, it felt…magical. And not in the children’s storybook sense one would expect to find in a fantasy book. No, this was magic in a way she hadn’t felt since, well, since Narnia. But the story was also sad. Sure, the kids got to go on a magical adventure to a faraway land, but then they just… left. Back to the real world, back to growing up and to eventually become adults. The story didn’t say what happened to them next, once the kids returned from the magical land and all the years after. They reminded her of herself, and that was the saddest part of all.
Wendy called the story Neverland.
It was weird, the way it resonated with her. She supposed it was, well, because she was one of those kids. And once she had returned back to the “real world,” it was never a happy ending. Nope. Just like her those kids would have to grow up, go to school, and become what people wanted them to be. The would have to experience death and loss and eventually face the reality that they were alone in this experience. Yeah, she thought, that was the saddest part of all.
Susan pulled herself back to reality and looked up from her paper. She was surprised to see Wendy still deep in concentration and starring at the laptop screen. Somewhere, back behind the counter, there was a clatter and Wendy was shook out of her daze.
“Oh!” She said, sounding slightly startled, “Guess I got a bit distracted. Sorry. Do you want to go through them together now?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Susan replied, a bit more life in her voice then there had been before they started reading.
“Awesome. Do you want to start or do you want me to?”
“You can, if you want.”
“Great! Just give me 20 seconds to get my notes in order.”
Wendy began to shuffle through her papers. She really had like the story. Or at least, what would eventually become a story. It was more of a timeline at the moment. A very specific, detailed timeline, but still not a coherent story. It was almost as if she were recalling an event, or mapping out a memory. As far as stories go, it had potential. It was also strikingly similar to hers. A group of siblings finds themselves in a magical land where time worked differently, and they proceed to have amazing adventures full of magic and general wonders. But the most similar part, the part that really gave Wendy chills, was the end. And what a familiar ending it was.
It was thinking about the end that distracted her, pulled her back into perfectly preserved yet deeply hidden memories of her time with Peter Pan. She missed him, sometimes, when she found herself looking up at the stars or reading to kids at the library where she worked. Sometimes hated him sometimes as well, when at night she would have nightmares full of mermaids who would claw at her hair and clothes in an attempt to drown her and evil pirates hell-bent on revenge. But mostly when those memories came back, happy or not, she hated herself.
No one had made her leave Neverland and all its magic behind. Instead, she had made that choice herself. She thought she was so ready to grow up and move past all those childish things, and she knew she could never do that in Neverland. So she left and said good-bye to Tinkerbell and Peter and the lost boys and the magic. She couldn’t ever go back, she knew, even though as time dragged on she wanted to. She missed the magic and the beach and the friends and simply just being a kid. Now she had her university studies and other awful things to worry about. She had tried to talk to her brothers about it at times when she missed Neverland the most, but that never helped. Michael had been too young to properly remember it and John…he just aggravated her. At some point, he had just decided to quit. Neverland was never more than a made-up game they had played in the nursery, and that’s that. So it was just her and her memories now, all dragged up by the ending of Susan’s story which was far too similar to the ending of hers.
Wendy stopped rearranging her papers and looked up.
“Well, best start at the beginning, shall we?”