5This story is the first in a series which has long been in the works; a gift for my best friend, who was this story's original inspiration and muse.
Recap/Precap: All the rest of her family having died and been called to Aslan's Country, Susan Pevensie is left alone. Somewhat embittered, driven somewhat mad, she eventually found solace in telling her story to her friend, a writer by the name of Jack, whose stories and essays are published under the name of C.S. Lewis. But the telling of her story is not enough to give her answers to her deepest-held questions. And so Aslan, who cares for all of his children, even those who have fallen away, sends her two guides to lead her to the places where she can learn her purpose in life. It is a somewhat unconventional journey, but then, He is not a tame lion...
Susan Pevensie opened her front door, turned, and shook the rain droplets from her umbrella before depositing the instrument in its stand and shutting out the elements. Her thick woolen jumper was misted with condensation and she hurried into the kitchen to crank the radiator up to its stingy maximum, warming her hands above the rising heat.
She had just come from her last session with Jack Lewis, told him all that she remembered from her days as a queen of Narnia, and everything that her brothers and sister and cousin and old Professor Kirk had told her of their adventures in that land. What her writer friend would do with the stories she didn't know, nor, honestly, did she much care. It was simply a relief to have her secret out in the open, easily seen and examined and learned from. Jack had reassurred her that if he published - when he published - he would make it seem as if the story were fiction, and no relation to her at all. Susan, for her part, had forbidden him from changing any of the names, even to protect herself from speculation. "It's not my story to hide," she told him, "And I'm not going to steal anybody else's story. If anyone asks, say it's a tribute to the dead."
"And what about the end? You've given me enough for volumes and volumes of books, but how do you want me to end it?" Jack had asked, right before she'd left him.
"Oh, I don't know," Susan had snapped at him. "Do something brilliant; you always do. They're just stories, now, anyway, and books can be anything you want them to be."
He had pondered her then, expression inscrutable. "There is no such thing as 'just a story,'" he told her at last. "Stories change people. It's changed you," he pointed out, and Susan laughed bitterly.
"Because I lived it," she said. "Words on paper can't affect me. I'm more real than that."
Now she stood in her kitchen, rubbing her real hands to get real warmth into them, contemplating her real hunger and her very real empty bread box, when a voice behind her chilled her to the bone.
"Stories are indeed real," it said, and Susan froze. She had been very certain she'd locked her doors.
She turned to see two young women standing there. One had golden hair and the other was ginger, but otherwise they looked so exactly alike that Susan wouldn't have had a hope of telling them apart. "Excuse me?" she asked, a preface to a demand that they vacate her home immediately, but the ginger haired woman spoke first.
"Stories are indeed real, Miss Pevensie," she said. "As real as Aslan himself."
"And the Great One desires that you come to know this, Queen of Narnia," added the golden-haired woman. "He loves you very much and would have you come to know him, as your brothers and sister have done."
The announcement felt like a punch to the stomach to Susan. "My brothers and sister are dead," she said, much louder than she intended. "And my mother and father as well. They don't know anyone, anymore."
The golden one made no motion of her head, but Susan got the sense of disapproval all the same. "Come with us, then, and find out," she said, and as one, both women extended their hands.
Susan stared at them in disbelief. "If you think I'm going to go with two strangers who have broken into my house..." she started, and then stumbled to a halt at the expression on their faces.
"Then you are not the woman we thought you to be, Susan Pevensie," said the ginger woman. They turned to go. "When you have decided to follow Aslan's guidance, you will know where to find us," said one of them as they exited out the front door.
"...Wait!" called Susan, but it was too late; the heavy oak had already shut. She struggled with the latch, and it was only then that she realized that the deadbolt was engaged and the door was firmly locked.
Susan did not sleep well that night. She tossed and turned, dream phantoms chasing one another through her head. She buried her face in her pillow, imagining for a moment that it was soft fur, but it was not nearly as soft as her heart remembered. A whisper of a scent drifted on the air, reminding her briefly of the woods on a clear, crisp morning, with the dew heavy on the fields and fog lurking above the undergrowth, her horse warm between her knees and her muscles singing with the pull of bow and loose of arrow. The rumble of a purr echoed through her mind and she reached after it, only to realize it was only a far off train. "...Aslan..." she whispered into the night. "Aslan..."
She dreamed, then, a terrible dream. Her family - brothers, sister, parents, all her loved ones, all the Narnians she had ever known and ever loved, sat in a Great Hall a thousand times bigger than the one she remembered presiding over. They feasted, they danced, they told stories and merry jests, laughter ringing from the walls. Aslan walked among the guests, and they bowed to him, and Lucy embraced him, and the great Lion smiled in his wild way, and laughed just as joyously as any of them there. But Susan herself was outside. She could not get in, for there was a great chasm between herself and the feast, and she could not jump it. From the dark, far away from the firelight, she watched all those she loved making merry, and she wept bitter tears for her loneliness. She determined that she would leave, run away, for it was too painful to watch those she loved and have no way to join them, or even to get them to hear her. She looked once more across the great chasm, and locked eyes with Aslan. At once, the rest of the world faded away, and those great golden orbs became her entire world.
"Dearest," came his voice, and it was as if he were beside her, whispering into her ear. "Come to me, Dear One. Don't keep yourself away. Come to me, Susan."
Her voice was a croak. "I would... Oh, Aslan, I would. But I don't know the way. I can't get across."
She felt a brush of mane against her cheek. "You envy your sister and brothers," he said. "They are with me, and you are not. But they chose the easy path. Yours... yours must take a little longer, Dear One. Trust in me, and follow your heart." A great tongue touched her forehead, and she felt her fears ebb, a little. "You are stronger than you know, Susan. Take heart, and come."
"...I will..."
Susan awoke with her answer on her lips. "I will..."
She lay awake staring at the ceiling. There was a water stain up there that had always reminded her of a thorn bush, but now, in the grey light of dawn that came filtering over the rooftops, she rather thought that it looked more like the back of a lion's mane. There was a slight blob off to the left that might be the tip of his nose as he turned, looking over his shoulder.
That, in turn, reminded her of the stone lions outside of the library. One was regal, poised as a lion ought to look, as they always look outside of official buildings, facing outwards with that expression of supreme confidence and air of arrogance that the king of beasts by all rights ought to wear. But its twin, on the opposite side of the broad staircase, sat with its face turned inwards, a curious cat that loved to watch people passing by, though it would never deign to actually become friendly with them.
And suddenly she knew - though she didn't know how she knew - that the strangers she had met yesterday would be there.
It was the work of a moment for her to get dressed and hurry out the door. Milkmen paused to watch her hurry past, then shrug and carry on their rounds. It occurred to her halfway there that the library was closed at this hour, but she determinedly set that thought aside. It wouldn't be the first time she had visited the stone lions in early morning; passers-by would stare, but she had dealt with stares before and they couldn't hurt her. She just couldn't stand the thought of sitting at home and letting her sense of urgency dissipate. It was easy to do, after all - to convince oneself that such things could wait, that sensible people didn't simply drop everything and go haring off willy-nilly, that some thought and reason had to precede every action, and wouldn't a cup of tea be lovely... No. She wasn't going to let so-called 'sense' keep her lulled at home.
Besides. There was a tinge of magic to this whole thing. Aslan had come to her again, after all these years. Two strangers had appeared, who could seemingly walk through locked doors. Susan didn't think it was a coincidence for such things to be happening now, after she had finally started to think about that other time and other place once again. It sent a thrill of excitement through her, that she hadn't felt since she'd last left Narnia.
So it only seemed fated that as she mounted the library steps, the door would swing open to admit her, and shut behind her just as silently. Her sun-dazzled eyes, pale though the morning light had been, made the dimness within all the more dark, so that she could barely make out the shapes of the two strangers.
"Hail and well met, Queen of Narnia," spake one, and "Welcome once again, Susan Pevensie," said the other.
Susan shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, and realized that she had no idea what was in store. "You wanted to see me?" she said at last, and her eyes must have been growing more accustomed to the lack of light, for she saw a flash of a smile pass between the two women.
"You wanted to see us," corrected the ginger one. "We couldn't have come, otherwise."
"Your journey will be long," said her sister. "But we will be with you. The stories will teach you, and you will learn."
"And yet not as others learn," replied the first. "Truth is found within, and so within we go." They extended their hands, and this time, Susan did not hesitate to take them.
As they led her back into the stacks of books, Susan dared to ask a question. "Who are you?"
The two women exchanged a glance. "I am called Oriana," said the golden haired one.
"And I am Rowan," added the other.
Emboldened, Susan thought to ask another. "And where are we going?"
"Into the library," they answered together. "All libraries are connected," said Rowan, "and from one, if one has the knack of it, one can get into any other."
"And you have the knack of it?" Susan asked, only a little doubtfully.
"Of course," replied Oriana. "We have already passed through."
Susan looked about her. At first, she didn't see anything different. But as they walked, she noticed that the shelves seemed older, the wood darker. The books had cracked-leather spines, the same as in London, but the titles printed on them were in characters much different than the Latin letters she had learned. Ahead of them, a pair of doors that she knew were no part of her library graced a wide front hall, opening out onto bright sunlight. "Where are we?" she asked, somewhat in awe.
"Susan Pevensie, welcome to Hyrule."