Two Worlds
Lucy watched, happily as the little girl threw herself into her mother's arms. Standing on the ship's deck, it was a sort of wistful smile. She felt a small squeeze in her hand, and looked over up into her brother's face. He looked down at her and smiled understandingly, squeezing her hand again. Somehow, although they were in fact, King and Queen of Ancient Narnia, it wasn't the same as being an actual Narnian from birth. Caspian could never understand the feelings that Lucy had, because he was from one time and one place, and nowhere else. But Edmund, now, he was the same. He also considered himself to be Narnian, and yet knew deep down inside that he was legally and by birth English. And they both knew that they could never really truly belong the way Caspian and Trumpkin and even Miraz did.
Lucy gave a small sigh and turned away from the painting to face her brother.
"It's not the same, you know?" she struggled to explain what she meant. Ed gave her a sad smile.
"I know."
And no more words were said, because what was there to say? She had thought that she belonged in England, that Narnia would never truly be her home. And now that they were back, back in the place she had once belonged to, it was just so different. She walked the streets of her once-upon-a-time home, and felt only pity for the common people, people who were beneath her and didn't even know it. She knew she was yet a child, yet sometimes felt a burning need to instruct adults who were supposed to be far wiser than her, to tell them how to use diplomacy properly, how to inspire and demand respect from others. She despised herself for despising the school teachers, who had never been anywhere except this dark, dreary city, and yet dared to think that they could teach her something. Her! Queen Lucy the Valiant of Narnia? It was just so difficult, to try and be a part of two worlds while not fully belonging to either one. To desperately try to convince herself that she was Narnian, or that she was English – just to be one or the other. But the experience had changed her, changed her too much to just simply fit back into who she had been before. And the worst part of it was that there was nobody to tell, nobody who could even begin to understand what it was like to hold a lifetime of memories in your mind and yet still be a child – to be an experienced, wise mind trapped in a small body.
Nobody, that is, except Edmund. Only he had been there since the beginning, only he truly knew exactly what it was like. Eustace had only just started to understand, Peter was far away, and Susan…well, Susan would not speak of it. And so, as the days went by and became months, then years since they had been Narnians, as it began to sink in that they would never be going back, she pushed the memories aside. Everyone deals with pain in their own way, and Lucy's way was to shove it aside. Susan could not bear the difference, and so to cope, she denied it had ever happened and refused to discuss it. Peter kept silent, reliving his memories by himself. Edmund wrote them out, long poems and thoughts that nobody but himself ever saw. And Lucy the Valiant valiantly tried to forget – forget that she would always be a Queen of Narnia, forget that somewhere time was rushing by without her, forget that she had seen Aslan for the last time – to forget it all. But simple things sparked memories that refused to be forgotten, things like a simple melody that sounded like…no, it couldn't be; a waving of branches in the wind that…but, no, it wasn't; a food that smelled like…no, never mind. She tried, really she tried, to push them away, but a whole life was not to be forgotten that easily. She would lie awake at night so as not to dream of them, but inevitably sleep would overtake her. And only Edmund was there, to wake her up and sit with her until the sobs went away.
They never said anything during those nights, nothing at all; until the one night when it just wouldn't stay down, and Lucy, trembling, spoke His name. And Edmund, silent, strong Edmund, fell apart at the mention of it. And Lucy, oh, Lucy, was the one to hold him and finally talk. She told him, reminded him, of there – of the familiar landmarks, the people and places they knew and loved so well. She talked of brilliantly blue skies, of lush green fields, of majestic centaurs and prancing fauns. And then she talked of war, of blood and pain and fear and darkness. She talked of gold crowns and long chess games and practice bouts with swords, of diplomacy and judging and ruling. And finally, when all other topics were exhausted, she talked of Him - of His great flowing mane, His deep, forgiving eyes, His golden love, His velvety strong paws. And Edmund hiccupped, and wiped salty tears away. And the two, foreigners who belonged and yet didn't, finally spoke of their shared lifetime and allowed themselves to remember, to laugh and to cry at the long-suppressed memories. That is how they finally remembered that He was also in their world, and that is how they began to search for Him, to seek after Him with their whole hearts.
Jeremiah 29:13 "You will seek Me and find Me, when you seek Me with all your heart." (English Standard Version)