Disclaimer: If I created the flowers, I'd probably have genius enough to create Narnia too; but I didn't create and do not own either. I'm merely bringing their nuances to light.

A/N: Susan means "Graceful Lily." A few of the flower sites I went to said lilies are associated with death, meaning innocence restored after death. Trying to incorporate that, this turned out sadder, in a gentle way, than I meant it to. Some day I shall have to write a tale of Susan and joy.

A/N2: I wasn't intending on making this a series, but curiosity led me to look up the definitions of the other "children's" names. And I was curious to see if I could write stories for all of them. We'll see how it turns out.

Chapter 2: Flowers

OOOOO

One morning when Mother was rocking Lucy in the rocking chair that creaked and groaned like music, I asked her why she chose Lucy. And she smiled and said she didn't choose Lucy, but God sent Lucy to us. In her words, I shook my head and said, no, not the girl (pointing at my sister), Lucy. And with the intuition mothers must possess to figure out their children, she understood I was talking about Lucy's name. And she said she chose it because the light had fallen on Lucy's bed in the hospital, the big building Lucy came from, and Lucy had laughed. And Lucy means light. And I thought that over for a minute, and then asked why she chose Susan. And she said the first thing she had seen, when she had felt well enough and bored enough to take note of the world again, was a tall young woman carrying long-stemmed white lilies with both hands, and in the woman's face was written so much wisdom and gentleness Mother named me after her.

I think I felt it incumbent to love flowers after that. I took care of our flower garden in England, with mother by my side, and the flowers were my special responsibility, with their red, pink, white, and yellow colors and delicate leaves. But Mother grew distracted by the war, and suddenly the responsibility was mine all alone. It wasn't as easy, being alone (I wonder if that was foreshadowing), but it was better than being uprooted and transplanted to the country. (To a different country.) But flowers are needed everywhere, even in war. Just as life is. And I went, because my siblings would be there, and it was away from wars that trampled flowers and had no use for them. (It was only later I learned that some flowers are so precious wars are fought over them.)

And then, in the country…

I don't remember much of it. But sometimes I dream about it, about being planted in soil so rich and welcoming, with a sun so strong and so gentle, I learned to be strong and gentle too. And to live life with a grace that drew all eyes to the beauty of it. To wait in the court, till a word of peace and grace was needed, then to stand and walk and draw their eyes and to speak with the strength that came from having roots through all the soil in Narnia; to be alive because Narnia gave me its life and I in turn showed that life and beauty to all who came, and warned them gentle of the strength running through it. To be a glimpse of hope, a touch of gentle grace, to those suffering. To the mother beaver (Mrs. Beaver's granddaughter), grieving when her home flooded as a welcome to the castle that gave her hope and allowed her to breathe, watching her face change to the response beauty always calls forth. To be the first to welcome them back from war and remind them that peace dwells here; here, they could be hurt, and begin to heal. There was life enough there for them to heal. For the fauns to dance again, the centaurs to have the strength to look at the stars again, because I was strong enough to hold up their heads and gentle enough it wouldn't hurt.

Flowers grow everywhere. When we were transplanted back, when I lost the gentle, strong soil and sun of Narnia, I told myself that. I told myself it was enough.

But it wasn't, it wasn't, because when we were called back it took so long to be a Narnian again. To be Aslan's again. But He granted me to ride on His back again anyway, to go with Him to collect His army again, stand with His own, and to put forth all my strength in the aftermath of the battle to remind the Narnians of the life Narnia was so full of.

And then I was told it was the last time. That'd I'd never feel the Narnian sun again. And stepping through that doorway into our own world, I realised something.

Flowers may grow everywhere. Lilies don't.

So I went with my parents to America, and gave up trying to grow as Aslan's flower. What was the use, outside Narnia? A different soil, a different sun. So I looked at the girls around me and tried to grow into their beauty.

Then sorrow came, and I learned that what I'd been growing wasn't life. It wasn't enough to heal or help anyone, not even myself. And I was left with memories I'd tried to fade and family that wasn't there, and I withered.

It's better now. I think, if Mother saw me now, she'd see the wisdom and grace she wanted on my face. Because those are often gifts time gives, after sorrow comes. There is a reason lilies are carried to funerals. There is a reason. Their beauty and life are needed there, for healing for the deepest sorrows.

They're needed in a country still recovering from a war. And I'm growing into that role now, though the soil is harder and the sun harsher. But it just makes gentleness more apparent.

And I remember, sometimes, that my name also means innocence restored. And I hope, and pray, that I'll find a way to that. To the clearer dreams of Narnia and its life. To Aslan's flower, showing grace and life. The the wisdom and gentleness only He can give, but that can be given, even in England.

To being a graceful lily wherever He planted me. Because He can grow lilies anywhere.