Back To Avalon

**Chapter One: Arrivals and Departures**

We find ourselves in the midst of a new great age. Our heroes have bested insurmountable foes. With a particular focus on those that stalked the halls of Braddock High. The Keystone kids, now Keystone teens, soon to be adults, have graduated high school. The possibilities of a big bright world, the world they helped to save, are opening up to them. They have a new mission far from home. To accompany the Pevensie family back to Heather’s Aunt Susan's home. London, England. Here for the first time in over forty years. Endeavouring to unravel the last secrets of the Pevensie line.

The clouds part in front of a *British Airways* liveried *Boeing 747* bearing a precious cargo of familiar first-class passengers. It maintains a holding pattern, and below it lie the runways of London Heathrow airport. To the east, we see the beginning of the vast metropolitan sprawl of the English capital. Modernity clashes with the traditional on a scale far beyond The Loop versus smalltown Maryland. Georgian houses live in the shadow of newer skyscrapers. The Keystones find themselves many thousands of miles from Mountain Maryland. A place far from the serenity of home, of busy yuppies and twenty-four-hour hustle and bustle.

Susan Pevensie MacLoud was for once not the first to disembark from the plane when it had taxied along the runway and reached its final destination of The International Terminal of London Heathrow Airport, unlike she had on every other connecting flight. This was of little surprise to Heather Jones, her Great Niece. As Heather slipped off her headphones, Back *To Avalon* by one of her favourite bands *Heart* Still ringing in her ears. Susan looked grave perhaps twice her age now. She would shrug it off as being “*Under the weather Darling, Jet Lag.”* It was far more than that. To someone that knew her, had the benefit of her limitless wit and company. Had lived under the same roof as her for four marvellous years, she appeared suddenly frailer, so old that she was no longer the person who had to show a driving licence every time she requested a seniors discount. Her great-niece could tell Susan was back there, back in 1949. That dark day when she had lost them all. When in that grave moment she unwittingly took up the mantle of the last of the Pevensie line for forty often solitary years. Until Heather had arrived at her doorstep in Bethesda escorted by the FBI.

Not only had Susan lost her parents Helen and Arthur but her siblings Petter Eddy, Lucy. her cousin Eustace and her friend Jill, along with Diggory and Polly who were more like a spinster and bachelor Uncle and Aunt respectively. Leaving Susan without even a memory of Narnia to provide some small comfort or the knowledge that The seven of them plus her parents had been transported to the other realm to live for an eternity.

Susan was where she always was when she thought of England, on a railway platform early one evening before the commuter rush at Victoria station. Twenty-one years old again. Many women her age would wish they were this age again and it would send a cold chill up Susan’s spine when old maids like Polly Plumber wished as much. Susan was beautiful, some might say. Her hair is far less straight than she wore it today. That was the style at the time. Dressed in her normal utilitarian garb, not that much fashion was available with war rationing still in place. This was the style she had begun to embrace at an early age, and continue to adopt throughout her lifetime, despite more styles becoming available. This was tried and true. She paced the platform wearing Heavy calf-length fur-lined Boots, the sort favoured by the Bomber command boys. Warm heavy twill riding Breeches, a leather belted three quarter length coat, gloves up to her elbows. A Cromwell pudding basin helmet with leather goggles attached to it hooked over the crook of her arm. A hand-knitted long scarf now draped around her slight shoulders. Lucy had knitted it, being extremely supportive of Susan’s purchase of the new Vincent motorcycle.

A railway porter pointed her out to the tall slim uniformed policeman with his notebook in hand. Not that Susan didn’t look unique amongst the crowd of commuters in earth-toned demob suits and hats looking to go back to the suburbs after a day at the office, and the women in their dresses and coats in town for shopping. Where Susan dressed like an Aviatrix or a Dispatch Rider. The Policeman’s uniform bore the crest of the *British Transport Police*. Susan made for a striking rather intimidating figure, if you asked the young constable, as she continued to pace the railway platform impatiently, the metal tips from her boots causing sparks to erupt as she impatiently stamped her feet, wordlessly cursing *British Rail*. She took a fob watch from the pocket of her father’s old de-badged British Army Battledress blouse, which she wore under the coat to keep off the chill. Well it looked like her family weren't coming at all, they were extremely late. Where had Father left the Rolls? It was going to get a parking ticket or worse. If only Diggory, Professor Kirk or Polly had the good sense to buy a reliable vehicle they would all have been back in London now. Peter drove but his Squire Sports tourer needed a new cylinder head gasket. The government really needed to get on with those *Special Roads* they wanted to build.

The young policeman took a deep breath and walked up to catch Susan’s eye.

“Madam, are you Miss Susan Pevensie of Number 6 St. Cedd's Crescent Belgravia SW1?”

He asked, a grave look on his kind young face. He was not much older than Susan, perhaps twenty-five, or just very youthful.

“Why, Yes Constable I am”

Her curiosity was aroused, was she about to pick up a speeding ticket or her fathers’ parking fine? Her new Vincent Black Shadow was about the fastest thing on the streets. Yet Victoria Station was only a five-minute leisurely ride from the house. So the Vincent was barely warm, hardly touched thirty miles per hour, in addition, she was stuck behind a *London Transport* omnibus unable to overtake.

“My name is Constable MacLoud Miss. Percival MacLoud. Would you like to take a seat in the waiting room please, Miss Pevensie”

He indicated the platform waiting room to his left, he spoke in a soft Scottish accent. His tone was measured and patient, her name so perfectly pronounced. Susan had to patiently explain the pronunciation to every person she was introduced to.

“I’m quite fine as I am, my families train is overdue they should be here any moment”

He nodded

“I think it might be for the best if you took a seat”

He said sagely. Trying to direct her towards the platform waiting room or even a platform bench, Susan definitely shook her head. She felt a little like she supposed her Mother must have in her younger days chaining herself to railings to demand votes for women.

MacLoud drew another deep breath. This wasn’t going to be easy. Was it ever?

“I have terrible news Miss, there has been a fatal accident, earlier this afternoon, just outside Bedford”

Just as soon as Susan heard this she almost collapsed. The world lost all colour for her, everything was sepia like a newsreel, then her legs went as did her sense of equilibrium. To onlookers and the poor Constable, she went white as a sheet. For some unbeknownst reason she didn’t hold out her arms to try and stabilise herself or take the hand of the Constable so she headed toward the ground with her arms folded across herself as if to subconsciously protect the helmet she was carrying.

Making a death notification was hard enough to make even if the next of kin of the deceased were not as stubborn and single-minded as Susan Pevensie. PC MacLoud wished he were in a world where he was asking this stupendous woman to perhaps see him socially. With a view to courting. He didn’t think he had ever met a woman quite like her. So passionate, so intelligent. His heart sank as she headed towards the cold concrete of the platform and he rushed to intercept her as if she were some precious heirloom vase knocked over by his mother’s cats. Rather ungallantly catching her, holding her close to him for a split second.

“Does anyone have some smelling salts?”

He shouted towards one of the porters rushing to his aid. Another further down the platform collected a large first aid kit, coming to assist.

Susan was not fragile and she did not break easily. This Percey MacLoud would learn as much sometime later as he went on to be Susan’s first husband. The man whom in her father’s absence she would judge all other men by from his near-infinite levels of kindness and patience to his boundless good humour. Of which few men measure up to, including her second Husband Wilton Knight. Though the less said about him the better Susan would say, It is why after the divorce she took the name MacLoud once more. Though they had not been able to bear children together she bore his name to honour his memory.

Back in the present day of Summer 1993, Their party was separated as Susan and Heather went to Passport control for British Passport Holders. They had their passports ready and were whisked through, as they didn’t require visas as British citizens.

*Heather Pevenise Jones* her passport read. She felt her middle name fitting. Something she’d grown into. The name she shared with heroes of old.

“Welcome Home Miss Jones”

The passport control agent stamped her brand new passport. The first one. She had been a little disappointed to not get a stamp when they’d driven to Canada to see a concert.

“First time in England actually, I was born in the US one of my Parents was British”

Heather Slips off her sunglasses so the Agent could see her clearly, meeting their gaze. That’s what she’d always believed, so it wasn’t exactly a lie. the born in the states thing, totally not born in some Castle in Narnia. Though she doubted that Aslan had a passport office. Though it would be humorous to see him put his paw print on every document. She had to tell Susan that to try and hear her Aunt’s guttural laugh.

“Then welcome to England”

The Agent corrected themselves. Waving them though before Ricky, Scarlett and JD were even at the counter for International passport control.

A little while later just off Bath Road outside Heathrow airport, Susan Pevensie MacLoud exits the airport with the aid of her young travelling companions, as they had eventually been reunited at the luggage carousel. Her Great Niece at her right Scarlet Blake to her left, Jessie JD Davies and Ricky Lewis bringing up the rear. Most of them brimming with near in-concealable excitement of being outside North America for the very first time. Even though they were well aware that the contents of *The Chronicles of Narnia* were an accurate account of Heather's Aunt's tremendous loss.

A 1939 Rolls Royce Wraith drophead coupe in pristine two-tone paint was waiting at the curb for them. A uniformed Chauffeur carrying a whiteboard with *Pevensie MacLoud Party* upon it waited patiently by the car's footboard. This was Susan’s father’s car. Father had ordered the Wraith from Royces before the outbreak of the war. As an engineer, he’d consulted on the project. This was the car they should have been driving on that fateful day. Susan had never sold it. As she could never bear to part with the machine, It wasn’t the car's fault that her father didn’t get the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of his labours. So It was kept under the care of the *Rolls Royce Heritage Trust* up in Derby.

“Can I please have my keys young man, do you want dropping off at the tube?”

Susan was suddenly as sharp as she ever was. The Chauffeur politely declined, he had a coworker waiting. Adding that the Wraith was running in his opinion superbly.

The Chauffeur didn’t seem at all shocked by Susan’s request. He had clearly been given very specific instructions. Driving made Susan feel better, it always did. Like she was in control of her own life and destiny. Though after the last few years Heather was certain Susan was in the command of any situation.

The Keystones loaded the car opening the suicide doors that seemed as large as barn doors and Susan took the wheel to drive the forty minutes home to Belgravia, for the first time in over forty years. Ricky sat in the back seat grinning ear to ear. Savouring the moment This was the oldest and nicest car he’d ever gotten a ride in. He'd been in some of the older farmers' Model T’s but this was a different league. He flipped out one of the ashtrays. Never used as it had just left the factory. He was sure to get a chance to look at the engine later. With her Great Niece at her side and the core of what they thought of as *The New Narnian Court* at her back, they set off. Susan thought of Scarlett, JD and Ricky as family, and they, her. So it was time to face a few home truths.

"Hold on tight, we didn't even have seatbelts in racing cars when this was built"

Susan announced as she smoothly slipped the car into gear and headed for the motorway towards London. As Heather withdrew a brand new copy of the London A-Z. tracking their journey with her finger on the map. With her free hand, Heather tuned the later 1950s Motorola radio *Cats in the Cradle* by *Ugly Kid Joe* began to play. On the occasion, Susan had been able to bring herself to enjoy the car she had disagreed with Rolls Royce and wanted some music. They weaved into London along the M4, from Longford. Across Hammersmith, Earl’s Court, Kensington and Knightsbridge.With Susan pointing out the sights

“That’s *The London Hospital* or at least that’s what it was called when I was born there, The Queen made it Royal a few years ago for reasons unrelated to yours truly”

Susan said as they crossed the borough of Hammersmith. A bit farther in slow-moving traffic. Susun gave a taxi driver with an aversion to indicators a brief honk of the Roll’s mind and eardrum blowing air horns. Then immediately continued her self appointed role as a thoroughly informed tour guide despite not living here for decades.

“This is South Kensington, That is The *Natural History Museum* and the *V&A, The Albert Hall i*s a few streets that way. *The Imperial War Museum* is over in Lamberth near the Elephant and Castle tube, my Brothers were very keen on it.”

It didn’t feel so bad to talk about them. JD remembered that he had promised his Mum they’d do cultural things over here. The city was full of it. Maybe write a few travel articles for the Garrett Times, while he was over here.

“*Harrods* is further up this street”

They all knew that Susan had *Harrdods* number forty-nine loose leaf tea shipped to her in Garrett every few months. Part of what she called “The bare essentials of a civilised existence”.

Susan took a right before Harrods, driving past old white stone fronted terraced houses four stories high plus a basement. Packed so close together, barely any gardens, and this was the rich part of town. They sped past large tree-lined greens eventually pulling into *St Cedds Crescent*. Equally impressive houses of a similar era stood here. This is where the Pevensie family home was, their final destination. Susan turned into a large gateway with a brass plaque marked *Bede Mews - Private - Strictly Residents Parking Only* and span the Rolls around reversing it as if by echolocation up to the wooden Garage door. That was well painted and maintained.

“Buck House is that way, Lizzy and I practically grew up as neighbours”

Susan joked. She still sounded just like the other English Queen to Heather.

Heather took the keys and Ricky hopped out behind her to help open the garage. Nodding in approval as he saw a very well equipped little auto shop. Susan’s father had been an engineer after all. Susan backed up the Rolls into the spot it was always parked, at least in her memory, there always used to be plenty of room for Susan’s Motorcycle next to it. Peter had to rent a garage from neighbours elsewhere on the mews.

If the Garage was a time capsule to the post-war era so was the rest of the house. Despite Susan’s absence, The Pevensie family solicitors *Trewartha, Gregory and Doidge* of Pimlico had the place well maintained over the last almost four and a half decades. The forties Kitchen had a replica of a nineteen-fifties fridge, tucked away out of sight in a butlers pantry; the electronics had been updated over the years to bring them up to modern standards. Additional bathrooms had been added to unused linen closets. Though not as large or opulent as Queen Manor. The Pevensie Macloud home they were all accustomed to back in Garrett, this house wanted for nothing in the comfort department. Susan could not bear to sell it despite its skyrocketing value. Only her oldest and most intimate of friends had stayed here over the years in this veritable shrine to her late family.

“Well get settled in, Heather and Scarlett you may have my room or Lucy’s make that decision between you. Boys, I think you’ll find Peter's Room will suit JD and Eddy’s for Ricky.”

Susan busied herself putting the kettle on. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Apart from not on the ration and four decades expired. It really was like coming home. She’s been crippled by fear to do it until now.

“Can I help Auntie, are you okay?”

Here was Heather in the doorway to her Great Grandmother's domain, the kitchen. It was so odd to think that her mother had a great-granddaughter.

“I’ll be fine Heather I shall soldier on as always”

Susan gave a little smile. If not for the fashion and the designer glasses she could be looking through a timewarp at the girl she was at that age. Or at dear Lucy who had been just a little younger at the time of her earthly demise.

Heather embraced Susan. Her Great Aunt might talk like one of the emotionally restrained *Spirit of The Blitz* English stereotypes, Heather knew that wasn’t really the case and the appearances and upbringings could prove deceptive. As she rested her head on her Aunt's shoulder. As at eighteen, Heather was about the same height.

“We’ll get through this together”

Heather assured.

Upstairs In Peter Pevensie's Bedroom JD was rolling in his fancy new suitcase on wheels. It was the very best suitcase an international traveller could ask for, the salesman At The Maplehurst Mall had told him. A man who’d never really travelled outside Maryland either. JD stopped noticing the fringing of the rug was catching under a wheel going to retrieve it he noticed a loose floorboard beneath it.

“Very strange”

He said to himself, carefully separating the suitcase wheel and fringing. Noticing that the board was so loose that it could be easily removed. JD wished he had Heather’s book light for a split second, He thought to himself what would Indiana Jones do? Daringly he placed his hand in the void under the floor and withdrew a leather-bound journal. Covered in dust. Over forty years' worth of dust. This must be Peters Journal. He flipped open the leather cover to confirm that. It was! The first entry was in a neat legible joined-up hand. JD jumped to his feet. Nearly tripping over his own quickly forgotten luggage as he made for the hallway, at a sprint.

“Everyone, I've found something!”

JD announced triumphantly. Bounding down the stairs with a bemused looking Ricky, then joined by Scarlett both at his heels.

They had all read and reread the journal several times. It was the most bizarre sensation to have your own origin laid out on a stripped pine kitchen table much as Heather had seen the origin stories of superheroes laid out on the counter of the Paperback Exchange by Rob, Gary and the boys.

“Well Well Well” Susan sipped her tea, all her and Heather’s seeds of suspicion had grown and bore fruit. The FBI DNA laboratory was of course correct. Heather was her Great Niece, and now they knew which other Peveise was her Grandfather.

“Peter dear, not quite the paragon of virtue you made yourself out to be, not quite up to the *Peter Pan* type you cast yourself as. Not at all.”

Susan uttered sardonically

Susan was the bad one, the black sheep, the one they left behind, the only one, yet Peter had left a little something behind, himself. Or her beloved Heather would not be here.

“It makes logical sense, it's here in black and white, Peter had a girlfriend Florence Jones”

Heather was the first to speak, this was her origin story after all.

Lucy had been right when they’d met briefly four years ago. Susan was a little bit bitter about this, rightfully so. Lucy hadn’t known that they’d leave Susan alone, that they had a nephew on the way. When Lucy had encountered Heather after the final battle at the fall of the veil, she’d been focused on reuniting Heather with Susan. Oh, how terrible she felt for abandoning the older sister she idolised.

Lucy’s words rang in Heather’s ears.

*“Arise, Queen Heather Pevensie Jones, that's your name, you’re full name. You will not return with us to Aslan's country, nor do I believe you would choose that for yourself, you know that you have a full life to live on earth. Your friends are all here. You are not alone though there is another … my dear sister is in your world, your allies can find her. She was always meant to be your guardian but this Loop as you call it made her forget. I hope she's not grown bitter … I love her dearly …. I miss her and I will miss her … every day of my life. I named my own daughter in her honour. You’re both so very like her. Please find my sister Heather. "*

Heather could do many things but turning down a quest was not one of them. So she had marshalled her newfound courage to ask her new friend Agent Madeleine Bozzio and her Boss Deputy Director Tyler to scour the world for a *Susan Helen Pevensie*, or a woman with that maiden name. In all the world there had been one. The one sitting across the Pevensie family kitchen table from her now.

Heather grasped her Aunt's free hand. Feeling a rage build within her she was unaccustomed to. A righteous fury that could hold back tides. Or indeed topple the monarchies of mystical kingdoms.

“I found you, that's all that matters. This is just filling in the blanks”

Heather assured

Susan stifled a tear, Heather was a fine young woman. It was the greatest privilege of Susan's long life to see her grow into the person she was today.

“I know you’re an inquisitive soul, and you need to know, it still opens old wounds for me. Of the many things I’ve faced in my life, hypocrisy is one of the things I can least abhor.”

Susan’s greatest wish. Not that she believed in magic, not anymore, only science. It was as her countryman *Arthur C Clark* had so eloquently put it “*Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”*. Susan was as sceptical now as when she had been a girl. Though if the science some people call magic were possible, she wished she had known of Heather’s existence in 1979 when she had been no more than a toddler. When she had needed her the most. It should have been as her sister Lucy had willed it, Susan as Heather’s Guardian. She felt she had been amiss in her duties for almost a decade. A bitter pill to swallow like many others in her life.

Susan had survived the war and so had her family, mercifully. The Luftwaffe and the other Axis forces had tried their best. Only for Susan to lose her parents and her siblings, in an accident. she had spent so long wallowing in self-pity. In this house, living with the ghosts of her family. Then dear sweet Percy had pulled her out of it, taken her away from England to Scotland to heal. He’d taken a promotion with the diplomatic protection detail for British embassies to get her anywhere she wanted in the world. He was devoted to her. He worked a day job and she explored the language and culture of the region. Writing articles for the newspapers and glossy magazines back home. It had been a good life. Then too soon Percy had been taken from her. A widow before her time. Just twenty short years with him, when she had wanted a lifetime. Constable Percival Alasdair MacLoud, her first husband, her soulmate. Wasn’t going to be waiting for her in eternal life in Aslan's country. Resplendent in his British Transport police dress uniform, as he had on their wedding day. So she asked herself what was the point?

Too stubborn to give up. She’d been that way long before her family died. Susan’s answer was apparent; she was sitting opposite her at her parents' kitchen table. Supported by her Great Nieces closest friends. All the heartache of her life was worth it because she has been here to raise this wonderful young woman. To see her go off to college in the Autumn. To become the amazing person she was destined to be.