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1. In the events of Prince Caspian
Susan of the Horn is twelve and twenty-seven, forcibly removed then returned to her throne. This little body doesn't fit right, it's light in all the wrong places. She's missing decades of scars and muscle memory. But they are home again. They can relearn everything they've lost.
Aslan is here, even though she doubted. His mane is golden and His eyes are wild. It gives her strength enough to bleed for Him, to drag herself and her family to war once again. She is older this time around, with a stronger body and a monarch's mind. But it's not enough for Him.
Susan stays silent with grief as Peter is cast down. He rips her heart out as she leaves.
2. In the tale of the Dawn Treader
Queen Susan of Narnia is half a world away when the letter arrives. An outlandish tale of mice and dragons, and a sea of lilies at the end of the world. She believes it, because Aslan's betrayal hasn't sunk its fangs into her yet. She is still too small to comprehend how He licked her bones clean and discarded them with the rest.
Being a child again is humiliating. Susan had a crown of lilies and a country at her fingertips. She went to war for a lion to name her gentle. She went to war for a lion to tear out her crown. But Susan believes, despite herself.
She waits for trains that never come, reaches into wardrobes that are always too small. But it's harder to hold out hope of returning now. If Aslan would cast out even Lucy, the most beloved daughter, what chance did Susan have? They all live here now. For better or worse.
3. In Aslan's other name
Susan the Gentle tries to find Aslan in this strange old world. America is nothing compared to Narnia. It's a land of too much and not enough, wrapped in blood and lies. The Aslan of this world seems more like Tash. His faithful sow discord and preach hatred. Surely this cannot be the life he meant for her?
She drifts away from her family, who seem blind to the world they live in. Edmund used to understand her better than anyone else in the world. Peter was her guide and protector throughout it all. Lucy was her partner in everything, and her very best friend.
Her siblings are Narnian. They are monarchs.
These days, Susan looks in the mirror and finds herself to be neither.
4. In Peter and Edmund and Lucy
Susan Pevensie has many good things in her life. She has a studio apartment above a printing press, and the promise of a dance from a girl with hair like sunlight. She has work tomorrow at 8am sharp.
She also has three crazy siblings who are going for a jaunt across the country, and are hellbent on dragging her along.
"I know I've been busy lately, and we haven't seen each other for a while. But can't this wait 'til the weekend?" Susan reasons, ignoring Peter's poorly concealed disappointment.
"Please, Su," Lucy's eyes are brighter than usual. "Won't you come with us?"
For a moment, Susan entertains the idea. Imagines herself throwing it all away for an afterimage of their childhood. They were so close, once upon a time. Maybe they could be again. But Susan has clothes to wash, a party to enjoy and a life to live.
"Really, Lucy. You're being silly. I'll see you when you get back, alright?"
"C'mon," Edmund says, eyes shadowed. "We're going to miss the train."
5. Long after the funeral
Susan sells the wardrobe. She wanders the family home and sifts through all the minutiae of their lives that she had missed. She dreams of childhood stories that seem too detailed and grown-up to have been imagined. She grieves.
Susan may think fondly of her queendom now and again. But she knows better than to extend a hand to a Lion. He will only bite it off and spit it out to intone this is your fault. She may have been told to never return, but damn it all if she didn't have the grace to leave like a queen.
When she sees the beast again (as if she could ever be rid of its reproachful eyes) she will ask it: Who did you really sacrifice, all those years ago, on a table of stone?
You came back. They did not.
But in the interim, she reapplies her lipstick and repairs the run in her nylons. She goes to work and wars of her own and she finds:
Gentle boys paying debts not their own.
Lionhearted men with too many worlds on their shoulders.
Valiant girls with far too much faith.
More rarely, in quiet places and old battlegrounds she finds: Women no longer gentle or beautiful, with emptiness for fingers or limbs or hearts. It is these women that Susan runs to with bleeding hands outstretched.