Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia, C.S. Lewis's Stepson does.
"Do I have to spend the day with Great-grandma?" Petra knew she was whining. She also knew that, at sixteen, she was too old for whining. But, quite honestly, she didn't care right now.
"Yes, dear," said her mother. "You know how much you kids' visits mean to her. It's your turn today."
Petra frowned, and pushed her light brown bangs, which she was currently trying to grow out, out of her eyes. "I don't want to spend the day at a nursing home. They're all old people."
"Petra," said her mother, a bit of warning in her voice.
"Fine," said Petra. "Can I take a book with me, though? To read when she falls asleep?"
Her mom sighed. "Okay, but be quick."
Petra went to her room, and plopped down on her bed, staring at her bookshelf as she considered which would be the best to take with her. Finally, she just shut her eyes, and randomly grabbed a book off the shelf.
"'The Silver Chair' Good enough," she said, as she examined the book she pulled. She then ran outside to where her mom was waiting in the car. She got in the passenger seat, slamming the car door slightly harder than necessary. "Let's go," she said. "Get this over with." She pretended not to hear her mom's sigh.
She stared out her window at the scenery that rolled by, refusing to talk to her mom as she told stories about how amazing great-grandmother was thirty years ago. Honestly, Petra could care less about how great-grandma was back when she was only fifty. She wasn't fifty now. She was eighty. She no longer had a nice house full of rooms to explore and even more woods, she lived in a nursing home.
Finally, they arrived at the nursing home. Petra got out of the car, gave her mom a stiff, "Bye Mom," and once more slammed the car door a tad bit harder than necessary. Since there was no point in dilly-dallying on her way to great-grandma's room, she went straight to it.
Great-grandma was asleep, so Petra plopped herself down in a chair, pulled her book out of her purse and started to read. Maybe, just maybe, if she was lucky, Great-grandma wouldn't wake up until it was nearly time to go. Petra didn't want to hear any stories of great-grandma's childhood in wartime England. Soon, Petra was lost in the story.
"Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen of Narnia …" Great-grandma's voice suddenly jolted Petra out of the book. She shut it with a snap and looked up.
"Yes, Grandma?" she asked.
"Do you believe in Narnia?" asked Great-grandma.
Petra hesitated for a second, Great-grandma was the master of saying strange things that you never knew quite how to answer. "I … guess so."
Great-grandma smiled. "Good," she said. "You believe. Do you see that bookshelf?"
Petra's eyes followed the point of the gnarled finger to the old shelf. There were only seven books on it. Seven very old books. "Yes, Grandma," she said. "I see it."
"Good," said Great-grandma. "They're yours. Keep them, take care of them. They're special."
Petra hesitated for a second, then got up and walked over to the bookshelf and examined the books on it. "They're the Chronicles of Narnia," she said.
"Yes," said Great-grandma. "I'm old, Petra, very old. I want you to take care of them. You were named for Peter … and Edmund, too, I believe. Your middle name's Edna, is it not?"
"Yes," said Petra, after another second's hesitation.
"I want you to have them," continued great-grandma. "They're all I have left of Narnia."
"What do you mean?" asked Petra, turning to look at her great-grandmother. Great-grandma was old, with paper-like skin, white hair, and many wrinkles. But there was a sort of beauty to her, a sort of elegance, a regal elegance, despite the fact that she was sitting in a bed of a nursing home.
"Petra, dear," said Great-grandma with a sigh. "Haven't you realized by now?"
"Realized what?" asked Petra.
"I am Queen Susan the Gentle."