Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.

A/N: This chapter is a re-posting of the original last chapter. After I re-read this fic the other day, unable to contain my hysterical laughter at how rotton the funeral scene had turned out in the original, I rewrote it. Hope you find this a better version. God bless!

Chapter 10

Susan Pevensie sighed, glancing out the window for the third time.

"Aunt Alberta! Aren't you ready to go?"

Her aunt and uncle had showed up the day after the train accident, and stayed with her until it was time for the memorial service. They insisted that she needed someone else in the house with her since she wasn't used to being alone. Eustace's parents stayed in Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie's bedroom, which almost broke Susan's heart. Alberta was Helen Pevensie's younger sister, but they had never really gotten along.

"I'm coming, Susan!" Alberta called.

She usually insisted that her niece call her 'just plain Alberta', but under the circumstances, she didn't mind. After all, it was these awful circumstances that brought her and her husband to the small country town of Finchley. The memorial service was not even a week after the wreck, and her heart was still bleeding.

"All right, Susan," Alberta said as she finally descended the stairs. "Let's go, shall we?"

The three mourners had a cab waiting and went into London, making their way to an open field at the edge of the city overlooking the river Thames. Not many people showed up, and dark clouds overhead threatened to rain.

There was the Reverend Burke, an old friend of the family; the relatives on David Pevensie's side of the family; two of Helen Pevensie's friends from childhood; and an old woman with a young man. The woman Susan had never seen before. The young man accompanying her looked strangely familiar, but she couldn't tell where she had seen him. He had auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Susan nodded politely at him, and he nodded back. Then the Reverend began his sermon.

"We have gathered here today," he began in a mournful drone, "To remember the following: David Pevensie, Helen Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie, and Eustace Scrubb."

"Clarence!" Harold shouted.

"What?" the Reverend replied, squinting at him through thick glasses.

"Eustace Clarence Scrubb."

Susan rolled her eyes, recalling how much her cousin had hated being called by his full name, but Reverend Burke nodded.

"Of course. We are also here to remember a friend of the late Pevensies and Eustace Clarence: Jill Pole," he nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Pole.

Mrs. Pole sniffed loudly once; Susan craned her neck to see the woman, and finally caught sight of a bowed head and shoulders shaking in silent sobs.

The Reverend cracked open a black Bible which he had stowed under his arm, and began to read.

"Here ye the word of the Lord," he proclaimed in a monotone, "'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him, might not perish, but have everlasting life.'"

Reverend Burke closed the Bible.

"My friends," he said. "You have come here to honor the memory of some of the finest people on the earth. And why, might you ask, is their memory so dear to us?"

His eyes seemed to pop out from his head as he scanned the audience as if looking for an answer.

"Because, my friends, they were good people. They were kind and loving toward you; they were gentle and forgiving. And that is because of the faith that all of them had in common: their love and devotion for our Lord."

Reverend Burke stared everyone in the face as he spoke.

"But how, you might ask, do I know this is true? Can any man truly know what his neighbor believes? But still, my friends, if you look into their lives, you will see the truths of the Lord."

He glanced toward the back of the crowd

"If Mrs. Pole would like to come up and speak?" he asked gently.

Gladys Pole stepped up onto the platform, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief and looking as if she hadn't slept in a week. Susan felt the tiniest hint of compassion tugging at her heart. She, too, had not slept well since the accident.

"Hello, all of you. I'm Gladys Pole, and Jill was my daughter. Jill was born on January 14, 1933. She was sixteen this last year. She was always a sweet child, and I wasn't terribly sure about sending her off to school, but she made friends and did well. It wasn't until she came home for the holidays one term, though, that I really noticed something different about her. She was more respectful, more forgiving, and more…likable. When I asked her what was different, she told me about Eustace," here she nodded to Alberta, who was fidgeting with her gloves.

"Eustace and Jill were virtually inseparable for the next seven years, and I was rather pleased that she'd finally found someone that she was close to. As you all know, they were both on the same train heading back to school. When I handed her that train ticket, I had no idea…" Gladys stopped, holding up her handkerchief, pausing for a moment to regain her composure, "…I had no idea that it would lead to this. Nevertheless, I am proud to know that she died a Christian, and surrounded…" she let out another sob and managed to finish, "surrounded by her dearest friends!"

As she left the stage, the Reverend watched her with a sympathetic gaze.

"Mrs. Scrubb?" he asked, nodding to Alberta. Susan's aunt stood and squared her shoulders. Susan could see from the look in her eye that she was not about to break down—at least, not if she could help it. When Alberta arrived on the stage, she could see Harold and Susan nodding in encouragement, and she clenched her fists.

"I am Alberta Scrubb," she said boldly, "and my son was Eustace Clarence Scrubb. Eustace was such a sweet lad, a boy just like Harold. He was so far ahead of us, and so ahead of his time. When he was nine, his cousins, Lucy and Edmund Pevensie, came to stay at our house for a visit. During the Pevensie's visit, something about Eustace changed. He became quieter, and opened doors for me and stood up when older people came in the room. I guess you could call it respectful. And he started calling me 'mum' instead of Alberta. That was unsettling!" she exclaimed, drawing a few chuckles from the audience.

"After a while, though, I got used to it. He was less irritable than he had been, and he had friends for the first time in seven years! Jill Pole was one of them, and I agree with Gladys in saying that they were inseparable! I never even thought that he was a Christian until he invited Harold and me to a church service with the Pevensies. Then I began to see how much Eustace liked his cousins. They seemed to put a sparkle in his eyes. I shall miss him dreadfully, and I can only say," she paused for a moment, telling herself to be strong, "that I wish I had told him I loved him—one last time!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Scrubb," Reverend Burke said.

Once Alberta was seated, Susan got up on the platform. She pressed her lips together, swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat, and began.

"Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming. I'm Susan Pevensie. I suppose you know that all my family died—" her voice broke at the word. She cleared her throat and continued, "Died in the horrific train accident that happened not a week ago."

Her eyes filmed over, and she paused for a long moment, so long that Alberta cleared her throat expectantly.

"My parents were David and Helen Pevensie. Both were firm believers in Christ, and I suppose it's safe to say that they went to Heaven. I loved them both dearly,"—she allowed herself the tiniest of smiles for saying it without starting to cry again, as she had when rehearsing this speech all morning—"and can only hope to see them again someday.

"My brother, Peter Pevensie, was the protector. I loved him dearly—and I know he loved me even more. He was always the strongest of us—physically, at least," she added, remembering times when Peter's temptation had to be discounted by her other brother, whose strength was in his words. "He also was a Christian, a follower of the One True King."

One of them done. She hadn't started crying yet. Susan half wished she could. It felt like the tears were stuck in her throat. It hurt to keep them inside, but she couldn't let go. Not yet.

"Edmund was always the wisest of us all. He was the one whose wise words never failed to guide us through the darkest of times—especially when Father was away in battle and we were afraid for him."

Memories of those dark, terrible nights returned in a flash, but she shoved them away. Now was not the time to remember.

"However, of all of us, Edmund was the quietest. Sometimes people overlooked him, because he preferred to stay in Peter's shadow. I have no doubt that he was a Christian, for he always felt so deeply about being forgiven. He was just…" she felt the lump returning as she spoke one of the Forbidden Words, the Words she had sworn never to recall, and changed what she had been going to say, "just one of the best brothers a girl could want."

Susan was amazed that she had gotten this far without bursting into tears. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, I can make it to the end. But she knew, somehow, that she wouldn't. For Lucy was next.

"The name 'Lucy' means light, and that's exactly what Lucy was to us. She was the ray of sunshine on a dark winter morning; a candle in a room full of shadows. She was the one who kept the hope alive, even when we were neck deep in despair."

Tears filled Susan's eyes as a vision of her youngest sister passed before her eyes, golden curls dancing and blue eyes merry. She no longer blinked the tears away.

"I think, that really, Lucy was the most important of all of us," Susan said, almost pondering aloud now. "Her faith was what led us through the valley of the shadow. And now, her faith has…has…"

Susan bowed her head as the lump choked her and tears streamed down her face. The people below waited in compassionate silence. At last, sniffing and taking a deep, shuddering breath, Susan finished, "Her faith has taken her home."

She bowed her head once more and let the west wind blow in her face. It felt cool on her tear dampened cheeks, and she thought she could almost make out words as the wind passed her ears. But the words were just gibberish, simply noises made by such winds.

At last, Susan turned to the reverend. He nodded at her, and then at the seats, and she stepped off the stage, returning to her seat beside Alberta.

The reverend opened his Bible again and began to speak once more.

"The Bible says that when we believe in Christ, we can never truly die. Behold, Christ has triumphed over the grave. Where, o death is your victory? Where, o grave is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! We may live anew in Christ!"

"Amen!" everyone cried, and the reverend bowed.

"You can pay your last respects by the pictures of those we are remembering. Remember that they now live with the Father above, and all who believe in Him will see them again one day!"

Everyone got up, and Susan made her way through solemn or sobbing relatives, greeting and speaking with each one. Finally, she found herself face to face with the old woman and young man.

"G'day, Miss Pevensie," the young man said. Once more, Susan felt a memory spring up, but then it fell away.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" she asked curiously.

He blushed.

"I was the one who brought you the news."

Of course! Susan thought. It was the young officer at her door! The old lady stepped forward.

"My name is Matilda McGregor, dear, and you don't know me. I met your brothers one day. And this is my son, Neil."

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'm," Susan said with a sad smile, shaking the lady's hand. "Where exactly did you meet my brothers?"

"I'll tell you later, dear," the woman replied, giving her a smile that was both comforting and sympathetic.

"Susan!" Alberta called.

Susan looked regretfully at the young man and said, "I'm sorry. That's my aunt."

"Go on ahead!" said Neil, his slight Irish brogue charming Susan. "We'll be here for a while."

Susan went to her aunt, who handed her a handful of rose petals.

"Throw them out over the Thames, dear. It's an old tradition, though it's better done by the sea."

"Of course," Susan replied, taking the petals with care.

As she approached the cliff that hung over the crashing waves, the smell of the river—holding just the faintest hint of salt—brought back memories of the days of old when she and Edmund and Lucy and sometimes even Peter would set off in the Splendor Hyaline, or another of their beautiful ships. She had always loved the sea and rivers of Narnia. Now all they did was bring back painful memories. Slowly, deliberately, she spread out her hand over the Thames and let go of the petals.

"Goodbye, Mum and Dad!" she exclaimed. "Goodbye, Peter. Edmund…Lucy!"

The petals, a deep, brilliant red color, fell from her hands and twisted in the wind.

Then, for a moment, she was no longer Susan Pevensie. For that moment, one long, beautiful, heartrending moment, she was Queen Susan once more. She stood there as the rose petals drifted toward the foaming waves, tall and slender, solemn and fair. Her hair caught the wind, and it blew back behind her shoulders. She closed her eyes, feeling a sense of both pain and joy as tears formed in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

I can't!

Her eyes opened. Everything was blurry as she saw the world through her tears. The petals below fell onto the foaming waves and were carried far away almost at once.

Susan turned and saw Alberta, Harold, Matilda, and Neil—all watching her.

She couldn't bear it! Couldn't bear their compassionate gaze; couldn't bear the thought of living without her brothers and sister; couldn't bear to say goodbye.

Susan turned and ran. She ran as fast as she could away from them, away from pain, and away from memories. The memories hurt. They were like terrible, piercing wounds in her heart, but Lucy wasn't there to heal her with her cordial. Edmund wasn't there to give her a pat on the shoulder and a smile to ease the pain. Peter wasn't there to wrap her up in a tight embrace and hold her as if he would never let go.

And they never would be again.

When she stopped running from the memories and was master of herself again, she found that she was walking along the part of the train track where the wreck had occurred. The station had burned to the ground, and everything was deserted. She stopped near where the station had been and fell to her knees, sobbing in silent sorrow. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Neil.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, turning away. "I want to be alone. I am alone. They're gone—they're all gone!"

He bent down and just held her. She sobbed into his shoulder. Her gloves were almost soaking wet by now from wiping away all her tears.

"Shhh," Neil whispered, stroking her back—just like Peter used to. "It's all right, Miss Susan."

She was tired of resisting. Tired of holding the tears back. So she let them flow. She wept. She cried as she hadn't since Aslan had sent them away from Narnia for the last time. And now she realized that this was the first time since then that she had really wanted to cry like this. Neil comforted her in silence.

At last, the tears began to wane. Susan sniffed a few times and mopped her face with a handkerchief, which was by now soaking wet. With a disgusted look at it, she began trying to wring it out. Instantly, Neil was handing her his. Susan gave him a quick smile, and then finished wiping her tears away.

"Thank you, Neil," she said with a sigh, staring up into his vivid blue eyes. They were astonishingly similar to Lucy's.

"Don't mention it," he replied, blushing slightly.

"Neil, do you…I mean, are you a Christian?" Susan asked, immediately chiding herself for stumbling over the question so.

"Indeed I am. My mother taught me well," Nell replied with a smile.

"Would you...would you like to come over for dinner some time?" she asked shyly, looking down and tucking a piece of hair behind one ear.

"Of course I would," he replied enthusiastically. "Any time you say, Miss Susan. And now, how are you feeling? Would you like some tea?"

"A cup of tea would be very much appreciated," Susan replied with a small smile. Neil helped her up and held her arm, steering Susan toward an old fashioned restaurant.

"Wait a second!"

Susan stopped, glanced behind them at the ground beside the tracks, and pulling away from Neil.

"What?" the young man asked, watching her with curiosity in his bright blue eyes.

"I thought I saw something!" Susan said, kneeling again—though being careful of her dress—and searching the dust. Sure enough, her eye was caught by a bright glimmer to her right. Susan dusted the glittering objects off carefully, and picked them up with her wet gloves.

"What are they?" Neil asked, stepping forward and squinting at her hands.

"Four rings!" she replied in awe. "Two yellow, and two green!"

"Let me see!" he said, holding out a hand that came a bit too close for Susan's liking.

"No! You mustn't touch them!" she cried, snatching them back, and then smiling apologetically at the hurt look on his face. "They're...they're special rings."

Neil looked at her strangely.

"What do you mean?"

Susan looked up at the sun streaming through the clouds and smiled. They were all watching over her, and someday she would join them.

I have a feeling that this is only the beginning of the adventure, she thought. Only the beginning…

"Come on," she said, grabbing Neil's arm and walking toward the diner. "I need to tell you about a place called Narnia."

Finis