Disclaimer:
I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies or anything CS Lewis created. I do commiserate with Susan's inability to keep believing under those circumstances. I can't imagine how difficult it would have been to go from being a powerful queen to being a powerless child with little prospects. This is my vision of how she lost herself…and the redemption that she might have found.
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Susan Pevensie was logical. And that, perhaps, was her downfall when it came to believing in the magical world she had once ruled with her siblings. For logic, by nature, defied the existence of faith.
It wasn't as if she had set out to alienate her brothers and sister or to forget all that had happened…but she had a world to live in and it was, unfortunately, not Narnia. England had no place for Gentle Queens or Archery Masters. England was a world of war, and of materialism at its finest.
It was easier, she thought, for Peter to adjust than for her to do so. He had a future, or at least could achieve one, of similar importance to his role as High King Peter. He could go into politics, be Prime Minister, fight in the war for the freedom of the people of the world. He could DO something with his life.
All that was left for her in this world was to dress prettily, hope to be married to a suitable husband, and bear children. If she wanted to do work, she could do menial jobs or be a secretary or a nurse. But nothing that even compared to being Queen Susan the Gentle.
After too long, even the very thought of Narnia sent a stabbing pain to the very core of her being. Every meaningless day that she trudged through was a painful reminder of what had been and every single day, a little bit of Susan Pevensie disappeared.
It didn't make sense to keep drowning in this frustration and she knew there was no way to return to Narnia, so eventually, Susan began to push back the memories little by little. What use was faith in a creature who could not comprehend the impossibility of reintegration into a world and a life in England after having lived in the fantasy that was Narnia.
Susan wanted her life to mean something. She wanted to affect people's lives and protect them. She wanted to be a Mother, like she was Mother of Narnia, not just someone's mum. But every day seemed to press upon her the fact that she was destined for a life of obscurity. She would live and die and be forgotten, just like the millions of women before her.
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And so, little by little, she began to forget. It was the only way she could get through her day without wanting to curl up in bed and cry despondently. Perhaps if Peter had noticed the change earlier, he might have been able to offer some support. But he had his own issues to work through and by the time he did notice and was of sound enough to offer assistance, it had been too late.
Edmund had noticed, at first, but he was not the type to sit down and have a heart to heart chat. And, somewhere inside, Susan knew that he felt a little bit like her. But he had the chance to return once more and at some point in his journey, the feeling had slipped away, lost in the annals of time.
And Lucy. Dear, sweet Lucy with the guileless and unrelenting Faith. She was young enough that nary a thought against Narnia or Aslan crossed her mind and that society had not yet pressed upon her its restrictions. She returned for a third time and, though told she would not have a fourth chance, she never stopped believing that they would return. Lucy would never understand and Susan made sure that she never needed to try. To her, the eldest Pevensie daughter was simply growing up and losing herself for an unknown reason.
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It had crossed her mind more than once that their positions in life were a cruel outcome of Aslan's attempts to play with worlds. It was more than traumatic to go from Narnia, home, where they had been respected and able to DO things for people and HELP them…to being forgotten children who could do nothing. No one should have to be nearly thirty years old and stuck in a child's body with a child's expectations.
So Susan Pevensie did the only thing that was logical and made sense. She forgot and she let go. She dove into life as it was meant to be in England. She was a pretty young woman and so she acted like one, experimenting with make-up and nylons and boys and the parties that were the closest she would ever get to remembering Narnia. This was what life required of her and so she offered it.
It was excruciating at first, telling her siblings that it was all a silly game, that they should be growing up. But at some point it had become just that, a faint reminder of a fantastic game they had played. Because no one could travel to other worlds and be kings and queens and then just return to life in England. It didn't make sense. And what kind of godly creature would imagine that to be a good idea?
But suddenly they weren't around to bug her about their mythical world. In one single instant, she had lost everyone. And despite their distance as of late, Susan missed them. She missed them terribly. There was no one to tell her that her gowns had been much more beautiful than the fashions she wore, that she had once been the most feared archer in the world and why on earth would she limit herself to such fripperies.
And most importantly of all, there was no one to walk her down the aisle, no one seated in the empty reserved row of pews, each with a single white rose on the chair. And there was no one to look at her looking at herself in the mirror to remark upon how similar her wedding dress, the dress she had designed herself, mimicked the styles of Narnia. Or how the gilded tiara upon her dark tresses looked just like one she had owned a lifetime ago.
There was no one to walk her down the aisle and so Susan Pevensie walked herself down the aisle to be received by a husband who only knew half of his wife and who would likely never know who she truly was or could be. And as she faced her new husband and their vows were proclaimed, those empty seats glittered to her right and, for a moment, looked as if they had been four thrones, elaborately hewn and jewelled.
Susan Pevensie blinked back tears that were excused away as tears of happiness and became Lady Susan Turnbull.
It only made sense, didn't it? After all, there was no one left to question her, to push her towards unlocking the deepest recesses of her mind, or to tell her how she should act. And yet, when she began to paint scenes for her children's rooms, there was no Lucy to tell her to do so, but she did anyway. And when she began pressing her husband on certain matters of state in the House of Lords, there was no Edmund to tell her to be just, but she was anyway. And when she finally sloughed off the masque of makeup and fake smiles, there was no Peter to encourage her, but she did anyway.
And somewhere, in another time and place, they smiled upon their sister and waited for the day she would return to them. Because bit by bit, Lady Susan Turnbull was discovering who she was meant to be. And that was Susan Pevensie.