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[quote_gentle_unquote]

Although she realizes almost immediately what's going on (she has, after all, been fearing it, and has the greatest measure of the general contents of each room in this place), the full weight of the situation takes a day or so to hit Susan, as she flits from closet to cupboard to store-room and finds them empty save for the items she's specifically handled in the past. Her emergency closets - the ones she's been appointing - are intact; the rest seem relatively barren.

And so, she thinks, grimly, the other shoe has dropped.

Certain residents would be forgiven for imagining that Susan Pevensie might gloat, to have her worst fears proven right. A Cassandra, vindicated, smugly telling others left and right that she told them so, and they ought to have been more interested in preparations. But they would have been wrong about this, too. Distracted and panicked enough to forget entirely about her standing lunch date with Lancelot, she instead walks steadily, smoothly to her room, where she shuts the door firmly (she means to latch it, but she's so caught up in her frenzy that it slips her mind) and paces, pulling at her hair until it's half-snarled, tugged partially free from its usual crown of braids. Her other hand she keeps firmly in her pocket, clutched tight around the very last cruel new thing the Mansion had given her, right before it stopped cooperating entirely.

Water, she thinks, abruptly, mid-step. Will the water run out? But there's a lake out there, and there are trees to boil it; it might be significantly less convenient but they shan't run out of water. The taps are still flowing, but will that last? And so she fills some of the vases she's been accumulating with whatever will come from the tap, just in case she needs it later.

Then, with the wind fully out of her sails, she sinks into a seat on the edge of her bed, despondent, with her head in her hands for a spell. It might be a good twenty minutes, it might be several hours - she couldn't say. She'd been ever so worried about this - she ought to have pushed harder. She ought to have been more organized, to have really impressed upon people that they oughtn't assume that just because they've got a good thing now, it'll be there forever. But she let herself get distracted. There were other, more pressing things - things that seem ridiculous now, in retrospect. Sorting through junk papers? Getting caught up with a man to the extent where she forsook her self-appointed responsibilities for days on end? Love - if that is indeed what she feels for him - is no excuse. She should have - she could have - she ought to have -

I mustn't fall into this trap again, she tells herself, firmly, springing from her bed as swiftly as she'd sat down and striding over to the desk she'd moved into her room when she started writing her letters. (She's now missed dinner, too. The light outside is already dwindling, and the electricity doesn't seem altogether forgiving - it's working, but it's dimmer. But she oughtn't waste the few candles she'd set aside. What if they're needed more later?) It is far too easy to get caught blaming oneself until all that's left is blame. I really mustn't go back there.

But that tiny knot of cold in the center of her - the one that she'd very nearly unpicked over the past few months - tightens and grows. Grimly, she takes out paper and a pen. Her mood is dire. It's only appropriate to start the next one:

Dear Peter, she writes. I hardly know what to say to you.

She sticks the end of her pen in her mouth and chews.

Comments

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Me? Never. I'm very wise, you know."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Oh, I do know," laughing. He moves about the room, gathering things up. He's pretty sure he hasn't actually done this for her, but he has paid so much attention to her as she's done it herself that he feels confident enough. She can correct him if need be. (And it is certainly far less fiddly than making coffee in the cezve.)

[quote_gentle_unquote]

She watches him, more because she likes to look at him than because she's monitoring his approach, drawing the blanket she's got folded over the back of the couch down and spreading it over her lap. It does feel colder now - not just that spot inside of her; the room more generally.

[lanselos_du_lac]

He's not precisely efficient about it, but he does a fine enough job, and after several minutes he comes back to sit beside her again, handing her the mug first.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

Susan takes it gratefully, curling her hand around its warmth and tucking herself back against Lancelot's side. "Did I tell you," she says, "that I ended up trapped in a closet the other day?"

[lanselos_du_lac]

"No," shifting back to look at her, faintly alarmed. "What happened?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"The usual monthly mischief, I believe. It was the night before the tower appeared. I suppose I forgot in all the excitement."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Would that I had known -- I am glad no harm came to thee."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"I do wish you might have to my rescue, actually," says Susan. With some faintly apparent grimness, she says, "I was stuck with Enjolras."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"He seems all right," though this is more like a question.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, he's harmless, I'm sure," says Susan, who doesn't actually care to sway Lancelot's opinion on the man - she's simply sharing her feelings and experiences with her dearest friend. "After well over an hour stuck with him in such a space, I don't expect that he and I shall ever be friends, but one needn't be friends with everyone." She's quiet for a moment, then adds, "He does remind me of Peter."

[lanselos_du_lac]

He's about to agree, that one needn't be friends with everyone, but that last comment stops him. He thinks of Susan's letter. He settles his arm firmly around her.

"How so?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

He's dismissive and disinterested, Susan thinks, but she holds her tongue on so quick a condemnation. "He's focused on his own interests to a fault."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot makes a thoughtful sound, "So-- thou seest not curiosity or courtesy?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Perhaps with his chosen few," Susan allows. "I couldn't say for sure. Certainly not with anyone else."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"I do not know him well. We've only spoken once or twice," he admits. "But he seems very driven."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Peter was also very... driven."

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot kisses her temple, then says, "Wouldst tell me more of Peter?"

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"He was the eldest, and he was rather prone to passionate causes without practicalities," Susan says, snuggling against Lancelot and then, remembering the tea in her hands, taking a careful sip. It's perfectly adequate, and she makes a little hum of contentment before leaning her head against him. "Oh, I suppose that's rather critical of me. I only mean to say..."

She trails off, trying to sort out her thoughts.

[lanselos_du_lac]

Lancelot shifts himself ever so slightly, to better fit them together, his arm still around her. He gives her the space to think.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"He was my big brother and I loved him," quietly. "When the Blitz started and we were sent away to the countryside to avoid the bombs, he fancied himself the patriarch of the four of us, and worried about us quite a bit, but where I would make sure everyone was eating their vegetables and dressed warmly enough and clean... where, when the littler one were scared at night, I would lie in bed with them and read to them until they fell asleep, he would set rules and take me to consult with the old professor about what was best to do. Usually, I was already doing what the professor suggested, but Peter preferred to worry and direct rather than ask or listen. He was stubborn that way. We fought a lot."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"Hmm," softly. "I think I can imagine. Were you all quite young, then?" He is fairly sure that she has told him this already, but his tone suggests he would hear more -- not just of Peter, but of her as well.

[quote_gentle_unquote]

"Oh, terribly. The Blitz started when I was twelve. Peter was thirteen. Edmund was ten and Lucy, eight."

[lanselos_du_lac]

"And you were sent out of London, yes? For safety's sake?" A little pause, then, "It is hard for me to imagine what London must be like, for thee. And anyway, I would have thought of the castle town, most like."

[quote_gentle_unquote]

A tiny smile. "I believe London's population was eight and a half million at the time. And if I remember correctly, nearly two million of us were sent to the countryside. My siblings and I were lucky. It was just the four of us in that great old house, and the professor had things for us to do to pass the time."