A/N:While Edmund will always remain my favorite character in this world, I just know that there was something more planned for Susan. I know there's hundreds of other Susan redemption arc stories, but this one kind of just came to me while driving across the country. Hope you reader enjoy and, as always, reviews/critiques/comments are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, obviously. Just a computer in which to put my thoughts into words and share with others.

One year. One year and a week since the train accident took her entire family.

And in that time, Susan wondered if she could ever feel again.

Before the accident, when she attended her dinner parties and went out with her friends, she never did feel anything until she came home to her siblings (even though their eyes would always be filled with disappointment, there was always that unfailing love there too and she could feel it). Without her family, she could (or perhaps would) not feel.

Words finally broke through her thoughts. Someone was being pronounced man and wife. Lips were pressed to Susan's for a moment before she was spun around to face a small crowd.

Oh. This was her wedding. One year and a week later, she was getting married.

Susan smiled at the people gathered. Her friends. His family.

But not her family.

They were gone.

And Susan tried to keep smiling as she imagined her family was there. And they were smiling and clapping and happy for her.

But as her (now) husband started pulling her down the aisle, the image of them vanished. Susan couldn't bear to think how forced her smile must look to everyone.

(Judging from their own smiles and cheers, they saw nothing amiss.)

Perhaps if her family had been here, then she would feel the joy she was supposed to on her wedding day (Even if it were so, she wouldn't have that joy. There would only be guilt. Peter and Ed never approved of him. Even Lucy, who normally kept such comments to herself, voiced her distaste for the man. 'A gentle queen should not be associated with such a vulgar man' they told her. But she wasn't the Gentle Queen anymore. No, she had never been a gentle queen. That was only a game they played to escape the war.)

He drove her to their new home and Susan closed her eyes in exhaustion, but quickly reopened them (the sounds of traffic sounded too much like the low growl of a lion).

And when he carried her over the threshold of their home, he hugged her and kissed her, asking if she was happy.

No.

"Yes."

Twelve years since the accident. Everyone told her it would become easier with time. Her heart would heal and life would go on. Susan wondered if the people who told her these simple things lost their entire family in the span of five minutes.

But life did go on. And Susan had no other choice, but to go along as well. Everyday was a battle of pushing down her emotions. Pain. Guilt. Resentment.

Until a glimmer of joy finally appeared in her life. After her daughter was born. And (of course) she was born on the first day of Spring.

She was beautiful and perfect and had Lucy's nose, Edmund's eyes, and Peter's hair.

Susan would've named her Lucy if her husband hadn't promised his dying grandmother years ago he would name his first daughter after her.

Two days later they left the hospital with little Mabel.

And everyday, Susan found herself loving Mabel more and more (especially when she paused to listen to her play make-believe, innocent and willing to believe in anything, just like her Aunt Lucy).

Her heart was still too broken to give love to anyone but Mabel. And perhaps that was only because she was so much like lucy. Susan supposed he always knew this. Because on the twelfth anniversary of her family's death, she saw an envelope with her name on it. She didn't even let out a cry when she what it was.

A file for divorce.

She dropped the file and grabbed a suitcase, packing what she couldn't live without. When it came to only having one suitcase, she realized there was much she didn't need (but the first thing she packed was a picture of her family).

She pulled out another suitcase and went into Mabel's room, telling her nine-year-old daughter to pack.

Mabel listened, asking questions all the while that went unanswered by Susan (because as Mabel packed, Susan saw a different little girl that cried quietly while packing to escape a war, a stuffed puppy clutched in her hands).

Susan left with Mabel. The signed divorce papers were left on the kitchen table.

They took a train from London to Finchley (Susan was sure if Mabel hadn't been with her, she would've had a panic attack.).

Mabel gave up on her questions halfway there. Susan wouldn't answer, just stare straight ahead, not daring to fall asleep (everytime she closed her eyes, the sound of the train became the roar of a lion).

It was still afternoon when they arrived. Susan found a hotel where they would be staying temporarily. They went into the town to the florist and Susan had to pretend she didn't hear the whispers (Is that Susan Pevensie? Oh, poor girl, lost her entire family ages ago. She looks ill. Time hasn't been very kind, has it?).

With the purchases in one hand and Mabel's hand in the other, Susan walked to a place she hadn't visited in ages.

Her family's graves.

Mabel was silent the entire way and Susan was thankful for small mercies.

Susan's eyes slowly read over the words carved into each stone (she remembered the odd look she was given when she instructed what to put on each of their graves). And she felt her knees give out, falling to ground and sobbing over her family.

Mabel stood next to her, not sure what to do.

Susan placed a wildflower bouquet at her parent's tombstones. A calla at Peter's. A magnolia at Edmund's. A daisy at Lucy's.

The tears had finally stopped and Susan looked at Mabel. She held worry on her face that shouldn't be there for so young a girl. But Susan offered her a smile and pulled her onto her lap.

She told her of a war that sent four children far away to a place of a hundred year winter. Of a faun, bitter sweets, and a betrayal that could only be fixed with a heavy sacrifice. She told of an army that was led by just a boy. Two kings and two queens; the Magnificent, the Just, the Gentle, and the Valiant. She spoke of battles with giants and persistent suitors, one of whom turned into a donkey. A white stag that granted one wish when caught. A tumble out of a wardrobe and a pinch of magic that pulled them back in. A rebllion nearly a thousand years later and a renegade prince who had to quickly learn how to become a king. And she spoke of a lion who wasn't tame, but was good.

Mabel look at Susan with brown, wide-eyed wonder. She wiped at her nose and asked if it was all true.

Susan brushed her back blonde hair, kissing her brow.

"No."

Fifteen years since the accident and Susan had made a life for herself and Mabel in Finchley. Susan actually got a job at the florist almost immediately (which also meant she became the center of town gossip for a total of twelve weeks before the busy bodies finally moved on to another poor soul).

Susan's heart ached every morning (she could hear Lucy laughing as she walked down the streets or Edmund and Peter arguing as she passed the candy shope), but the pain dulled as she went about the duties of being a mother to Mabel.

Mabel never forgot the stories Susan shared with her. It became her favorite game and Susan had found her more than once hiding in the wardrobe (Mabel always insisted she was not hiding, that she was waiting.).

It was endearing at first, seeing Mabel play the same game Susan played with her own siblings. And Mabel grew, but not out of the game. Like Susan hoped she would. She even approached Susan one afternoon and told her she was now to be called Princess Mabel, the True (Susan had only ruffled her hair with a fond yet exasperated smile and told her to wash up for lunch).

The conitnuous game becamse too much for Susan when Mabel asked one evening if she could have archery lessons for her twelfth birthday.

Susan immediately answered no. Archery wasn't proper for a young lady.

Then Mabel said the Gentle Queen was the best archer Narnia had ever seen. And as the daughter of the Gentle Queen, Mabel only thought it fair she learned archery too.

Something inside Susan finally snapped. She yelled at Mabel. For the first time in her life. She yelled for Mabel to grow up, leave childish games behind and grow up (and Susan paused at the devastated look in Mabel's eyes).

Mabel didn't say anything else the entire evening. She even managed to go to bed without looking at Susan.

An hour after she was sent to bed, Susan paused at Mabel's door. She was still awake if her sniffling was anything to go by.

And then her stomach clenched when she heard Mabel praying to that lion. To please let her mum remember and believe again.

Mabel left early for school the next day. Winter was melting away for spring and it was tradition for the children to watch the ice on the creek break. Mabel was still quiet with Susan in the morning. But Susan gave her space. She would come around in time.

Susan clocked in at the florist's like any other day. But a feeling of dread was steadily growing in the pit of her stomach.

It only intensified when one of Mabel's classmates ran into the flower shop with a look of fear that Susan recognized too easily (for she had seen it on her siblings faces while in Nar…while they played their game).

He managed to get his story out before Susan ran out of the shop (she was sure the owner would understand why she left the shop unattended considering he would most likely hear wthin the hour anyways.).

They had been playing by the creek, watching the ice break off and slowly drift away. Then Mabel started with her make-believe game and jumped on the ice that still hadn't broken off. Her weight was just enough to provide that final crack. She held on as tight as she could and was actually making it to the bank when the ice slipt in two. One of the pieces pushed her under and that's when he went to get her mother while another went for help.

Susan ran all the way to the creek, her legs protesting, but she kept running. She had to get to Mabel. She could not be taken away from her too.

When she made it to the creek, she saw Mabel motionless on the ground, a firefighter giving her CPR while her classmates crowded around (and when Susan saw her pale, drenched face, she remmebered another incident practically mirroring this one, but the little girl was still breathing that first time).

Mabel's body violently shook as she gagged on water and gasped for air. The firefighter stepped aside and allowed the town doctor to look her over. He easily lifted Mabel into his arms and meet Susan's gaze.

Susan took a deep breath as she started leading him to her home. A crowd becan following, but the firefighter sent them away.

The doctor carried Mabel all the way back to her room. Susan quickly changed her into dry clothes while the doctor looked her over. She was breathing, but shivering almost violently and non-responsive.

(And Susan could only think of how that game was threatening to take one more thing from her.)

The doctor finally guided Susan out of the room. There was nothing to be done except keep her warm and pray.

He left and Susan collapsed at Mabel's bedside. She grabbed her hand, pretending not to nocie how cold it was and prayed (Susan wasn't even sure who she was praying to. All she knew was she prayed for Mabel not be taken from her. Because she was the last good thing in her life).

Susan barely slept for the next four days and only ate when the doctor stopped to check on Mabel.

The silence was too much for Susan. She brought in a radio to Mabel's room and constantly had it on.

The fourth day came.

It was officially the first day of Spring.

And Mabel's twelfth birthday.

A safari program played on the radio.

Susan pressed a hot towel to Mabel's forehead (How many times had she been nurse to her siblings? Especially with Peter and Edmund. She thought it would end after she stopped playing their game). And Susan repeated the pleas she had been saying for the last four days. Please, wake up. Don't leave me. You are the only thing I have left. I'll even let you take archery if you wake up. Forgive me.

And as if she finally heard Susan, Mabel's eyes opened. Beautiful brown that looked just like Edmund's.

Mabel smiled.

Susan smiled back, choking on a sob she couldn't hold back. She lost count of how many times she kissed Mabel's freezing cheeks.

But then Mabel coughed and gasped for air. Susan pulled back, urging her to take deep breaths.

A grimace replaced her smile as she struggled to breath. Then Mabel suddenly stilled, staring at Susan until something past her caught her gaze.

"Aslan." She whispered with a smile.

Mabel closed her eyes. She didn't open them again.

Susan cried out, holding Mabel's body, waiting to feel her breath, hear her heart beat.

Nothing.

And there was a roar of a lion on the radio and Susan grabbed the first thing she could reach and threw it at the radio, shattering both items.

Susan hadn't let go of Mabel when the doctor finally came by. She didn't hear his words as two men from the hospital and gently took Mabel (Susan knew that would be the last time she would ever hold her little girl).

She couldn't leave the room. She cried on Mabel's bed until she had no more tears or strength. It wasn't until the rising sun shone through the window did Susan realize an entire day had passed.

Somehow, she managed to get up. And she saw the broken radio on the floor next to a broken frame. She bent down and cleared away the glass registering that this was what she had thrown.

It was the picture of her family with a smaller picture of her and Mabel in the corner.

And a fresh wave of tears came as she clutched those pictures to her chest (she promised herself that Mabel was the last thing that game would take from her).

When Susan came downstairs, she didn't realize the doctor had been waiting for her. He was going to take her to start preparing for the funeral.

He asked if she was okay.

And Susan found that question absolutely ridiculous.

"No."

Four years since Mabel's death and Susan moved to America almost right after. She just couldn't live in Finchley anymore. She needed a new start.

Mabel had been burried three days later. A space away from her valiant Aunt Lucy (that space had been reserved for Susan, but she didn't dare dwell on that thought).

She had sent word to her ex-husband, but on the day of the funeral, Susan sat alone. Grieving for the last of her family.

Susan couldn't stand the empty house and she didn't have a radio anymore to fill the silence. She went back to work two days after the funeral. And there was no pretending this time she couldn't hear the whispers (Did you hear what happened to sweet Mabel? That poor Susan. Tragedy just seems to follow her everywhere. Pity, she's always had such a gentle soul).

She quit that same day and decided to move to America. She packed only one suitcase again with only the essentials (with the picture of her family and the picture of her and Mabel at the bottom).

Before she left for the train station, she visited her family's graves one last time.

She didn't think she had any more tears left, but her wet cheeks told a differen story. And when her tears had finally dried she pulled out the flowers. Wild flowers for her parents. Calla for Peter. Magnolia for Edmund. Daisy for Lucy. And a white rose for Mabel, wrapped around an arrow Susan had made (Susan didn't want to think of how or why she knew how to make an arrow of such high quality, because she had no doubt it had to do with that game).

And Susan left for America, deciding to live in chicago. She would find a small job and go into a nursing school (she's had so much experience in it before, why not make it a profression, give her something to live for).

She just never counted on how hard it would be. She became a waitress with the intention of only working part time. But rent and her other bills were high. She had to work full time.

Susan wasn't sure if it was a miracle or sheer luck that a wealthy family decided to dine there one evening (exactly four years after Mabel's death). Susan was their waitress.

They had four children. Two boys and two girls. The oldest a boy, followed by a girl, then a boy, then the youngest a girl.

The younger two were still in diapers and their parents looked at their wits end. The youngest boy was screaming his lungs out, the two older children were arguig over who sat next to mama and the youngest was gnawing on her father's suit-covered shoulder.

When Susan walked up to them to take their oder, the parents seemed oblivious to her presence.

They were arguing over trying to get the crying boy to stop. Susan listened for a moment as they argued as to what was wrong with him before Susan interjected.

He's teething.

The parents stopped and listened to Susan's remedy. A frozen washcloth dipped in chamomile tea.

It's what she used with Mabel (and her heart ached at the reminder of her lost joy).

The father asked if she's done this before.

And she spoke of Mabel. In the past tense. After four years, Susan wasn't sure she would ever get used to the past tense. Once a mother, always a mother (which seemed oddly familiar, but Susan never pursued that line of thinking).

Susan went into the kitchen to make their special request of a frozen rag. When she came back with the rag, the boy immediately stuffed it in his mouth and simultaneously, the children calmed.

The parents (along with the rest of the restaurant) breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Susan took their order.

She teased the older ones and cooed at the younger. And Susan couldn't remember the last time she had smiled like this.

They left her with a very generous tip. Five minutes later, the father came back in. He traveled a lot for work and his wife struggled with all four children at home. Just barely, the oldest was big enough to go to school. They had considered a nanny, but never took the time to find one.

And then they met Susan.

He left her with his business card and asked her to consider it.

The pay was double what she was making.

She quit the next day and took their offer.

Within a month, she was practically part of the family. The children, Paul, Stephanie, Edward, and Lacey (Susan was sure, wherever she was, Lucy was laughing at her).

As the children grew into their own personalities, Susan couldn't imagine her meeting this family was a coincidence.

Paul was the protector, albeit he ended up hovering over all his siblings. Stephanie was caring, practically their second mother. Edward was quiet, having the most rebellious moments, but at any point when his siblings were threatened, he would do anything to get rid of that threat. And Lacey was absolutely sweet and believed with abandon.

After three years, they asked Susan to become a live-in nanny. The pay would increase and she didn't have to worry about personal bills.

For just a little longer, Susan put off her idea of nursing.

She raised those children as if they were her own.

And everyday when she thought of Mabel and her family. The pain lessened just a little.

Twelve years in America and Susan would say she was almost happy.

Almost.

The last year, she had been having terrible headaches. She would tire more easily and in her dreams, there was always a lion.

She finally went to a doctor when Edward turned into Edmund for a moment.

The mother offered to pay for all medical bills, if it only meant she would get better. Susan didn't accept, but she didn't decline either. She still had no idea what was wrong.

The doctor ran several tests. And the entire time, Susan heard a faint buzzing in her ear that somehow sounded like the growl of a lion.

The results would be back in a week.

And Susan tried not to worry, despite her dreams becoming much more vivid and mistaking Lacey for Lucy and Paul for Peter.

A week later the doctor asked her to come in. He asked how long she had these headaches.

A year at least.

He took a deep breath and said she should've come sooner. A month sooner even. Something could've been done.

Her stomach clenched as she asked what was wrong with her. She had a brain tumor. It was too late to do anything.

At the most, Susan had a month.

(She wondered if Lucy's cordial would've working on something like this.)

When she went back to the townhouse, the mother stopped her decorating (it was Stephanie's twelfth birthday today and they were having a party) and asked what the doctor said.

And Susan lied.

She smiled and said she just needed rest. Because she couldn't ruin this day for Stephanie.

(When they pulled out the cake and Stephanie blew out the candles, Susan saw herself from a long time ago. When she turned twelve. When she still chose to believe.)

Instead of taking the children to the park the next day while their mother did grocery shopping, Susan sat them down in the den to tell them a story of four brothers and sisters that became kings and queens. High King Peter, the Magnificent. King Edmund, the Just. Queen Susan, the Gentle. And Queen Lucy, the Valiant. And she told them of all their adventures and of the Great Lion, Aslan.

She told them everything she told Mabel. And more.

She told them how the Gentle Queen lost her faith. The other kings and queen still believed, but she couldn't anymore. Especially after they were taken from her.

She then said the Gentle Queen had a princess that brought her closer to believing again. But the princess was taken away from her too and the Gentle Queen ran away to a far land. And she met four children that reminded the Gentle Queen of her and the other queen and kings.

And after so long of running away, Queen Susan, the Gentle, believed again.

The children didn't say anything for a while. Stephanie was the first one to speak.

She, being the logical one, asked if it was all real.

Susan grabbed her and pulled her into an embrace.

(Because out of all of them, she knew Stephanie would be the one to need constant reassurance.)

"Yes."

A week after getting the doctor's results, Susan felt completely spent. She went to bed early that night.

And, oh Aslan, how tired she was.

(But it felt right to say that name again. And a warmth spread in her that she hadn't felt since she was twelve and first heard his name.)

She laid down and closed her eyes for a moment. And when she opened them again, she was outside.

She sat up from the ground and noticed her head didn't hurt anymore.

(Was it supposed to be hurting?)

"Mum!"

Susan barely managed to stand up before something collided with her. Little arms wrapped tight around her.

And it was so familiar.

A grin looked up at Susan. "You finally came home, Mum."

Susan gasped. "Mabel?" It had been so long since she'd seen her daughter.

(Why had it been so long?)

Mabel pulled back, but still held on to Susan's hand. "Auntie Lu! Uncle Ed, Uncle Peter! Mum's here!"

And Susan looked up and saw Lucy, Edmund, and Peter running to her. They were dressed in familiar Narnian clothes with crowns on their heads. And it didn't look as if they had aged a day since the train station.

(Something happened at the train station. Something dreadful. But Susan couldn't remember.)

She was pulled into hugs and kisses and loud, excited chatter (We missed you, Su. Mabel is such a wonderful girl. You finally made it home.).

"Susan."

Susan looked away from Mabel and her siblings. There was a lion standing before them. The other Pevensie's and Mabel bowed low while Susan took a step forward.

"Aslan?"

Then Susan fell to her knees and wept. For in that moment, she remembered everything. And she couldn't comprehend why she was here before Aslan. Didn't her disbelief for so long disqualify her to be in His presence?

"My child," he purred. "Once a queen of Narnia, always a queen of Narnia."

Susan's chin was lifted up by his paw and she looked in his lion eyes. She felt a warmth like none other spread through her body. And she couldn't remember why she had been crying.

Because she finally felt peace.

"Welcome home, Queen Susan, the Gentle. Welcome, to My country."

Mabel grabbed her hand and Lucy held the other. Susan smiled at their intertwined hands, noticing she was dressed in Narnian clothes as well with a familiar gold crown upon her brow.

"Let's go further up and further in."

Since they had become her family within the last eight years, they took it upon themselves to arrange for her funeral. They found out that she didn't have any other living relatives, but she had family (including a twelve year old daughter that they had no idea about) buried in Finchley, England.

So they took her and laid Susan down between Lucy, her sister, and Mabel, her daughter.

And their parents found it odd what was written on her family's tombstones and even more so when their children (especially Stephanie) insisted on something similar for Susan's.

Once a year, they traveled to Finchley to lay flowers on the graves and read their tombstones.

Paul placed a calla. Peter Pevensie. Beloved Son. Beloved Brother. The Magnificent.

Edward placed a magnolia. Edmund Pevensie. Beloved Son. Beloved Brother. The Just.

Lacey laid down a daisy. Lucy Pevensie. Beloved Daughter. Beloved Sister. The Valiant.

Stephanie laid down a white rose. Mabel Pevensie. Beloved daughter. The True.

And their youngest sister who had been born after her death (they named her Susan) laid down a blue violet. Susan Pevensie. Beloved Daughter. Beloved Sister. Beloved Mother. The Gentle.