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Once the white witch’s wall had crumbled, with icy shards of pure white glass covering the ground, the cave’s loud silence uncomfortably stretched on, only interrupted by the sound of Edmund walking away, far in the distance.
Susan barely glanced at Caspian, who was frozen still, gaping at the ground, trying to make sense of what had just happened, but she let her eyes linger a bit longer than what was necessary on Peter, trying to stop the venom she felt rising up in her throat from spilling out.
Her brother looked back, in a mixture of wounded pride and deep sadness, that she would have otherwise understood to be a halfhearted apology, and otherwise, would have accepted it, under different circumstances, on a different day.
But not today.
Not after what had just happened.
So she simply turned around, ready to follow her brother, both in an attempt to avoid any further argument with Peter, and to make sure Edmund was fine.
(And maybe to assure herself that he wouldn’t disappear - again -, like he once had in a different lifetime, between snowy trees, during an ever lasting night, while she remained surrounded by dozens of wet branches holding a beaver’s dam together.)
(She tried to ignore how the cold gnawing at her knuckles made her remember an endless winter, her brother’s bloodied face and scared eyes, and a lion lying dead under the cruel light of the moon.)
She had to get out of there.
So she did, taking the same route her brother had just a few minutes ago, and tried to burry whatever memories had made their way back into her mind.
The sound of her boots hitting the ground in an almost frantic rhythm gave her something to think about while she followed her brother’s steps, or at least what she thought was his steps. Susan didn’t really know where Edmund went, but deep down it’s as if it didn’t matter, as if her feet would bring her to him no matter where he was.
And they did, as she finally found a hole in the How’s walls, leading to one of the weird muddy balconies that hovered above the How. It was small, so very small, and if someone wasn’t actively looking for it, it would appear almost invisible. Edmund sword, slightly dusted with frost, was resting on the wall, near the entrance, as if waiting for her.
She glanced at it for a few seconds, before slightly crouching, and going through the hole, sighing in relief as she felt the chilly morning air caressing her cheeks once she had stepped outside.
The pale morning sun barely made its way through the thick fog that had wrapped their little hill in a tight greyish blanket, making it so much humid and colder than it was a few hours ago. She shivered silently, much preferring this fresh air to whatever frozen magic had invade the cave earlier. Her eyes roamed over the small surface, already finding a familiar mop of dark hair, that looked so much like her own.
Edmund was sitting on the stone, feet dangling over the edge, in an almost inhuman quietness, that somehow reminded her of frost and fur coats, empty eyes and harsh words.
Susan made her way to her brother quietly, sitting right beside him, and laid her hands on the grass that grew through the cracks of the stone, to force herself to remember where they were.
(Far away from icy landscapes.)
(Far away from England, too, and still fighting in a war nonetheless. She swallowed down the bitter feeling that threaten to make its way to her heart.)
Neither Edmund nor Susan said anything for a very long time, both staring at the vastness of white, grey and pale yellow, of fog battling the sunrise.
Silence always suited them better than Peter or Lucy, who bravely poured every single emotion in never ending words and phrases, tears and laughters.
Still, Susan knew her brother well and she knew they would inevitably have to talk about what had happened. When she glanced at him for the first time since he shattered Jadis’ wall, she recognised the very familiar turmoil in his dark eyes (so very like her own) that she saw so many ages ago, when they were all different people (and somehow still exactly the same).
Edmund looked so much older, frowning and quiet as if he was sitting next to her, and it made her heart clench in a painful way.
He looked like no 15 years old boy should ever look like, with fear and anger plastered all over his face, and dried tears at the corner of his eyes.
It reminded her of the golden age. Of endless councils, where she couldn’t even recognise Edmund anymore, as only the Just King remained. Of endless battles, from which he would come back with hollow eyes and pale cheeks.
(During her darkest moments she might have resented Narnia and Aslan himself, that land and its never ending winter, never ending wars, for taking her baby brother away from her forever.)
(She knew Peter felt the same, except he resented himself for it. Not the lion. Never the lion. Never the winter.)
(She tried not to think of that.)
Susan gently lifted her hand to his nape, tangling her fingers in his dark locks, like she used to back when they were kids and her brother would quietly sob in his bed after yet another nightmare. Back then, she would comfort him, with little chubby fingers stroking his messy hair, staying with him till he fell back asleep.
But they’re not children anymore (they haven’t been in a very long time) and his nightmares have never been more real.
-I’m not angry. Not at him, at least.
She knew he wasn’t talking about Caspian.
-I know.
Edmund lifted his eyes, watching the horizon with his brows furrowed, betraying the pain hidden behind his dark eyes.
-It’s just that… He knew. About her, how she would act. What she would say.
He lowered his gaze again.
-I wish he didn’t feel like she was the only option he had left to defeat Miraz. Like he couldn’t count on us, on the Narnians. I know why he feels like this but… it still hurts. Not being enough. And seeing him so desperate.
Her hand, still resting against his nape, moved gently to his shoulder, so that she could squeeze it softly.
-I know. But we are going to find a way to win this war, with or without Peter’s faith in our own victory. If we believe in it strongly enough, I’m sure he’ll pull himself together eventually. As for now, we have to focus on what’s next.
She continued watching her brother in silence, waiting for him to internalise what she had just said, her hand still resting on his shoulder.
After some indefinite time (Narnia made it always so hard to understand how much time passed, no matter how used to it one was), Susan could see in the way her brother’s back straightened that whatever internal conflict had clouded his mind was starting to ease, and a few seconds later, her eyes, still resting on her brother, were met with another pair, familiar in their darkness and their likeness.
Edmund was looking back at her, with that unique spark in his eyes that made itself rarer with each day that passed, back in England, and with that, she knew that whatever talking and comforting had taken place was over.
Edmund scrambled to his feet, nearly slipping on the wet grass, and mumbled something about going to practice with Reepicheep. She simply nodded, offering him a small smile, and watched her brother disappear into that same little hole in the wall she had come through a few moments ago.
Susan stared at it for some time, before turning to the forest again, trying to ignore the aching, old, familiar terror in her chest, screaming at her to not let him out of sight. To not let him disappear again. Not again, never again.
But she ignored it, that and the bitter venom burning her throat. She simply stared at the horizon once again, her eyes taking in the greyish smoke left by the fog.
(And she tried not to think of England.)