Standalone one-shots following (probably standalone, probably one-shots that is) exploring what would happen if Susan, at last, did this:

Susan Pevensie picked up the box. There was a faint humming sound from within.

Something, far far at the back of her mind in the place she kept fantasy and childhood and Narnia, whispered that she knew this box.

It was a miracle that it had even survived the crash. It shouldn't have. Yet here was a little box, and inside was something that could prove whether the others had died for a reason, or not. Or perhaps inside was nothing but the same aching emptiness that filled her. Susan laid it down again, feeling suddenly weak. She could not bear to know. If it was a lie they had died for nothing. If it was a truth—she had lived for nothing. Then she snatched it up again. Weakness, that was all—weakness! If they had chosen such delusions, it was not her fault. Her parents had not believed, after all, and yet they were gone too! With such force that she nearly broke the hinges of the box, Susan wrenched it open, and inside lay just what she had expected.

It was like a blow.

Several rings, jumbled together: some green, some yellow, and all mesmerising.

It was true, then; or the rings were. But she could not tell, not yet, if it were not some elaborate hoax a mad mind had devised.

Susan delved back into her memory and found it lacking: she could not recall which of the rings was to be taken to enter the Wood, and had no mind to be trapped there forever. A pair of gloves lay tucked off to one side in the little box, and she slid them on gratefully: man's gloves, with the imprint of Peter's lion head ring on the right index finger. Of course it was Peter's, and it felt as if he were gripping her hands, and though it was painful she welcomed the comfort of the brief illusion.

One ring in each pocket, carefully, then she closed the box again and removed the gloves, and gently picked up the other items that should not have survived the smashed carriage. It felt oddly freeing to sling a quiver on her back—Jill's—and lift a bow with an experienced hand, no longer needing to hide the unusual skill that she had somehow picked up in the country. Now another moment, a deep breath. Lucy's tiny dagger (a gift, only last year, from Edmund), also carved with a lion's head as the pommel, lay cool and comforting in a sheath at her hip. And in another pocket, already there, ever since she had been given it, lay Edmund's torch, returned to him by Caspian on the Dawn Treader.

If any of that was actually real. If the torch had ever been out of this world, not just hidden in his very messy room for a year. But she need not speculate any longer. She could test it, all it took was a ring. Now she was ready.

Susan put her hand in her pocket. As soon as her fingers brushed the ring, she disappeared.

Requests very welcome! I have a few ideas, but not many. To be clear, each tale, unless otherwise stated, is a separate what-if scenario. If there's a world, or an AU, or anything you want Susan to explore, post-LB—just give me a PM or review! I'll credit you, of course. And I do hope you like my cover.