"Ettinsmoor? Is that what we're calling it now?" Imira asked.
"Better than 'the northern lands the Ettins inhabit' don't you think?" Peter asked in return.
"I suppose it's catchy," she agreed. "So what do we do now?"
Peter looked around the room...
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Waiting, Susan realized, was its own hell. She could busy herself as much as possible during the day, but at night, when she laid in her bed, when the birds had stopped singing and only the owls were awake, when not a sound was to be heard but those of her own making, her thoughts accosted her.
It wasn't her fault, everyone had repeated to her, yet she knew so much trouble had been caused because of her.
When she finally fell asleep it was to a restless and light sleep, one of discomfort and nightmares that, despite her awareness of them, of them being only a dream, would not let her wake, no matter how hard she tried.
Until, at last, she did.
Susan sat up abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest as the remnants of the terrible nightmare lingered in her mind. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she clutched the bedsheets tightly, willing herself to take deep breaths and calm down.
She gazed around the room, taking in the familiar furnishings and hangings, and feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she realized that it was just a dream. But the images of her younger brother and sister being captured by their enemies, King Lune's mortally wounded under his horse, Prince Corin missing, and the brutal death of Lord Peridan still felt all too real.
"It was just a dream," Susan told herself. "An awful, unreal dream.
She let out a trembling sigh and rubbed her eyes, trying to shake the last vestiges of the nightmare from her mind. She had been through many battles and seen much loss and destruction in her time as Queen of Narnia, but this dream had felt different. This one wasn't a dream of after, it was a dream of before. This one, unlike the others, could come to pass. And if it did, it would be all her fault.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Susan jumped.
With a sense of foreboding, she called out, "Enter,"
The door cracked open and warm light streamed in, revealing a small figure.
"It's me, Aunt Susan," a young, sleepy voice reached her. "It's Will. I have news from the battlefront." the prince said, dragging his feet.
Queen Susan's heart sank. This was it, the moment she had been dreading. Her hands fisted the sheets and her stomach sank.
"What is it, Will?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
The young prince yawned as he stepped into the room. "Mum says the battle is won. Prince Rabadash has been defeated," the boy said tiredly and sat next to his aunt.
Queen Susan felt a rush of relief wash over her, and she sagged against the mattress, a terrible weight being lifted from her shoulders. "Thank goodness," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank goodness." She hugged her nephew. She could hardly believe that her nightmare had come to such a happy end.
