This is the third evening I have paced the shore, clinging to the fragile hope that I might find some peace amidst this the cruelest storm of my life.

Since the death of my family in the train accident I've received many sympathetic glances whenever someone learns my name. I dismiss them all, knowing that there is no real compassion behind these false looks of pity, only a pretence kept up for the sake of tradition and decency.

The funeral was the worst, where I stood by the coffins of my family as they were lowered into the graves, and accepted the condolences of strangers and relations knowing that many had hardly known my family.

Of all the relatives who attended, only cousin Charlotte and her family offered me real comfort and support.

When others only spoke useless platitudes and insincere words of reassurance, Charlotte was the one who offered to help me go through my family's possessions, and through her quiet strength and friendship helped me through what would have otherwise been a horrible task.

It is at her insistence that I am here now. I wanted to refuse her invitation, but she and her family had been the only relatives to show me true kindness, and I found myself accepting Cousin Charlotte's offer to come with her family for a few days to the seashore with relief and gratitude.

And so I came with them to this village by the ocean, hoping that for a time I might lay aside grief and find the strength to go on.

It was on our second evening here that Charlotte took me aside as I was about to dress for dinner. Mystified I followed her to her room.

"I meant to give this to you earlier Susan, but with all the preparations for the funeral and arranging to spend a few days here it completely slipped my mind." Seeing my puzzled expression she continued. "Your mother and I were very close, and when she wrote to me saying she was going to marry a soldier I gave this to her as a wedding present."

Sorrow filled my cousin's voice as she unlocked a drawer and removed an intricately carved box. "When we were going through the house after the funeral, I came across my gift to Helen and thought you'd like to have it. I think it would suit you well, as you look so much like her."

Curious now I carefully opened the box and drew back the velvet wrappings. And for the first time since my family's death I felt that wall of ice I had built around all emotion begin to thaw. I could not suppress a gasp of awe and delight as I gazed at the box's contents.

It was a comb. But not just any comb, this one was clearly meant to be worn as an ornament, and was one of the most unique pieces of jewelry I'd ever seen.

Crafted of mother of pearl, it was carved with representations of breaking waves and delicate strands of seaweed.

For a moment I stood frozen with astonishment at the sight of my cousin's gift. Surely this was no coincidence.

Because it stirred memories I have tried so hard to forget.

Memories of a creature born to the sea, a queen among mermaids who gave me the gift of her friendship and shared with me the secrets of the deep.

For she had given me a comb almost identical to the one I now wear in my hair. Accept that Mallo's gift had always reminded me of moonlight shining on a calm sea, and the curves of the waves with which the comb was adorned were far more sensual and graceful than anything a mortal artisan could conceive.

Also it possessed the useful ability to comb hair at the bidding of its owner, and expertly untangle any knots. Often during my years at the Cair I had used it. Fleetingly I wonder what became of it after I returned to England. Had Mallow reclaimed it? Or had it passed into the keeping of another queen or princess who were unaware of its history.

And now on this calm evening, I withdraw my mother's comb and let my hair fall about my shoulders, I recall nights swimming in the ocean accompanied by Mallo and her court, sharing in their music and stories.

The joyful years of my reign as queen, and watching Peter, Edmund and Lucy become what Aslan had named them at our coronation.

The horrible thought comes that if just one had been taken then I might have found the strength to endure.

Ruthlessly I banish that thought, choosing instead to gaze out at the sea under a clear evening sky.

The waves recall to my mind the ancient tale of Odysseus, lost upon the sea unable to return to his homeland because of the fury of a god.

And unlike that ancient hero I have no Circe or Athena to guide me back to my true homeland. I rejected time and time again the help of my brethren, confident that I was destined for success in the land of my birth.

I am Susan Pevensie, once known as Queen Susan the Gentle of Narnia.

But now as I gaze out at the endless stretch of sea, I give myself other names which reflect my life.

I was once like Helen of Troy, desired by kings and princes of many nations, the cause of war between my kingdom and the fierce land of Calormene. Their crown prince sought to kidnap and make me his queen by force, and had it not been for the grace of Aslan and the efforts of Archenland's lost heir to the throne I might have been forced into a loveless marriage.

But now I am like the ancient heroine Penelope, waiting for the return of her beloved Odysseus.

I know I will wait in vain, for unlike Penelope I know that death has taken those I love best to a land I can never reach. For I have denied its lord.

Aslan, the great lion, a king far stronger and more terrible than the ancient lord of the sea rejected and cast me from his presence, declaring that I would never return to Narnia.

How well I recall my anger at that proclamation, and my resolve to put away all joyful memories of Narnia and learn to live in the land of my birth. My pain and confusion at the great lion's rejection, and my endless speculations about what I could have done to displease him.

Hadn't I done my best for my kingdom? Hadn't I worked hard to become the queen he had named me at the coronation?

Didn't I always strive to live as a child of the lion should?

Why then had he so callously cast me away from his presence?

These were the thoughts that made me into the person I am now, shaped me into a being concerned only with receiving the praise and acclaim of others. For secretly I hoped that if only I could receive enough then Aslan might relent, or this great emptiness which has grown so much worse since my family was taken might at last be ended.

It is the great lion's grace and favor I now seek, so that I might someday be reunited with the family I drove away.

The waves carry a faint echo of the music I learned to know from Mallo, and I yearn to follow their call. For they call to me with a sweet song more captivating than anything a siren could weave, offering me hope and the promise of peace.

Often I heard it said in Narnia that Aslan comes from over the sea, and I wonder if he too follows her ancient call to the land he created through the power of song.

The sea might call to her creator; urge him to once again pass over her to the land for which he gave up his life.

But I know as I turn away from the shore to seek my bed, that it will never do the same for me. For I have forsaken Narnia for England, and nothing will call me home.

Oh Aslan, forgive your broken daughter, and grant that I might at least learn your name in this world. Perhaps then I will not be tormented by this constant reminder of what I so foolishly abandoned for the fragile glories I once thought so appealing.

I long to once again hear the music of water without this soul deep pain, to revel in its song as I used to as a queen at midnight under a Narnian sky. I wish I could speak with my mermaid friends, for apart from my siblings they truly understood me and welcomed me as a child of the sea to share in their realm and its secrets.

But I know that those hopes are mere dreams, for I will never return to Narnia. Yet I cannot help recalling Aslan's final words to me, that there is always a door into his country from all worlds, and that he alone can point the way to his land.

Fierce determination fills me as I hasten back to my lodgings. However long it might take, I will find this way, for only then will I be reunited with my family and friends, and once again feel the presence of the lion I've so often chosen to neglect.

Cousin Charlotte meets me as I hang up my coat in the hall.

"Susan, I was beginning to worry about you. Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yes, and I wanted to thank you, for everything, and for giving me my mother's comb.

It's a beautiful piece. Where ever did you find it?"

"I had it made for Helen by a friend of the family who's a talented jeweler. Your mother always loved the sea, and I wanted to give her something which reminded her of it even though she would live so far from the shore. Then when she told me of how you'd won so many prizes for swimming, I thought it was only right that you take it."

Again that note of deep sorrow entered Charlotte's voice, but this time it held pride and a slight note of reproof. "Your father always said you had a warrior's strength, though you didn't know it and that you'd take up that mantle in your own time. And Helen was always so proud of all her children, and you as her firstborn daughter always held a special place in her affections. Not that she favored you, but if you'd taken the time to talk with her more you'd have seen how much she loved you and her hopes that you'd grow into a gracious and gentle woman. That's what she always called you in her letters to me, my gentle Susan."

It is those final words which break down every barrier. That my mother, who knew nothing of Narnia had called me by the name Aslan had given me on the day he made me queen.

That my father had recognized in me the strength of a warrior, and been confident that I would grow into that mantle in time.

Oh mother and father, I hope you can forgive me, that even from heaven you'll know that your girl hasn't forgotten your lessons and will keep your legacy alive.

Impulsively I reach out and hug this dear woman who has shown me so much kindness, and she holds me as my mother did when I was a child, in a firm yet gentle embrace murmuring words of love and support.

Slightly embarrassed I draw back, but she simply offers me an encouraging smile and wishes for a restful night as I turn to ascend the stairs to my room.

As I prepare for bed I turn my mother's comb over and over in my hands, and let myself recall every bright memory I've fought so hard to lock away.

No more, I promise myself as I gaze at my reflection. Mother and father saw The Gentle in me, and I won't disappoint them, nor my siblings either. I will take up the mantle of queen once again, and hope that one day I'll find my way to Aslan's country and my family.

As I climb into bed and close my eyes, I seem to hear words from another time and world, spoken in a voice warm with approval and affection, the voice of a king addressing his beloved.

"Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen." In that knowledge I surrender to sleep's gentle embrace, knowing that someday I will see my family, and swim with my Narnian friends once again.

And on that day, I will not be asked to return to the land of my birth, for I will already have found my true home.

Note from the authoress: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, but life has as usual been busy and I was having some trouble writing from Susan's perspective.

For anyone wanting to know more of Susan's friendship with Mallo, check out Chapter 6 of this story, as well as Elecktrum's awesome story Into The West which is where I borrowed the character from with her permission.

I also took a while with this chapter, as I'm working on another Narnian story called In Darkness Born, and this chapter took quite a bit of planning.

Unfortunately the idea of the comb wasn't mine, I got it from Mercedes Lackey's novel The Snow Queen, some parts are a bit tedious, but it's still a good read.

Also inspiration for this chapter came while I was listening to Loreena McKennitt's The Old Ways.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Thanks for reading.