Disclaimer: I really wish I owned Narnia, but I don't. If I did, I wouldn't be typing this, and instead be eating fish and chips with the Beavers. Although, I don't really like fish and chips.
Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase – Martin Luther King Jr.
"Where do we take these boxes, miss?" the moving guy asked, pointing to a pile before his feet.
The woman glanced at them for a second and took the pen. Writing down the address, she handed it back, her eyes lingering on the location for a second. She couldn't bear to go there herself.
The man frowned at the paper, and looked up at the woman, confused.
Seeing as how she wasn't going to say anything, the man sighed and packed the boxes in the truck. Whistling a jolly tune, he drove down the street and turned the corner, disappearing out of sight.
The things in the boxes weren't important to her. She had kept the special things, tiny trinkets that mattered most to her family, in a chest under her bed. The clothes, the pictures, and the toys, though, were to be thrown amongst piles of rotting fruit and decaying sofas. Perhaps some homeless family will enjoy them.
It had been two years since the horrible train accident. The day it happened, was the day the young Susan Pevensie changed. Hiding within herself, she didn't bother attending the parties or the gatherings. She talked very little, and only when spoken to. As the first year passed in complete silence and horrible, body wracking wailing, Susan aged ten years. Her eyes were no longer blank or soulless, but worse. To anyone she passed on the street, pain and loss bled out of her very pores, tainting the air with everything she felt. Nobody dared to meet her eyes, too scared of what they would see.
Heading back inside, the woman closed the door before tears began to flood her eyes. Everywhere she looked, she saw things missing. Gone was Lucy's laugh from the kitchen along with the aroma of her mother's cookies. Her father's pipe smoke was absent from the parlor, where Peter's tight hugs used to be. Only small remnants, memories really, were left of Edmund's voice, a balance between low and high. Susan couldn't stand looking at rooms with furniture that they sat on, that they used, that they talked over. Several months ago, she had thought of relocating to an apartment downtown, but knew that wasn't a possibility. Letting go was just as hard as staying put.
Trudging upstairs, Susan walked into the room Lucy and her shared. Where Lucy's bed stood, the blankets were carefully tucked in, ready to be slept in. Pictures of her friends and family, along with several of her doodles, were gone from the wall, leaving behind pale squares in the flower wallpaper. Outside, it began to rain.
She knelt down by her bed and reached out, her fingers softly brushing the metal lock of the trunk. Pulling it towards her, Susan brushed away the collecting dust from the top. The lock clicked as she opened it, revealing few objects placed carefully in the box. There was a letter from Peter, one she didn't know she had until she was cleaning her room after the accident. It was years old, written back when they had just started school after returning from the countryside. Beside it, lay a chess piece of Edmund's, a knight because it was his favorite. In her mind, Susan saw golden replica of it, a ruby eye glinting in the sun. Sending a pang through her heart, she quickly put it down, moving her eyes to her father's worn cross. He always wore it around his neck, and one day, told Susan that during the war, after he prayed each night, he felt happy, because God was telling him that she was safe. Under that, was her mother's most treasured recipe. During Christmas, the two would wake up early and bake shortbread cookies before the sun came up. Then, the whole family would walk down the street, handing their neighbors the treats. At the very bottom, was Lucy's last painting. Despite the lack of sunlight, the brilliant silver castle seemed to shine with all its might, while below, waves crashed against a cliff. Susan finally looked at the last object. Tucked away in a small pocket, she pulled it out, and held her hand to her mouth, holding back wails. She remembered the day the photo was taken, almost as if it was yesterday. It was back when they were children, her the age of ten. Lucy was sitting on Peter's lap, telling him of what she was going to name her doll. At Peter's feet, sat Edmund who was playing with his toy airplane, pretending it was crashing into Susan's castle made of wooden blocks. She was the only one smiling into the camera, a tooth in the front missing. She couldn't even look at herself.
Getting up, Susan took a shuddering sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. Compared to the girl in the photo, she was a tramp, a dirty rag. Her lanky hair was pulled hastily back with a ribbon. The lipstick she had so carefully applied this morning seemed drastically red, too red, resembling a clown. Her cheeks, red with rouge, were still pale, sullen and sunk into her bones. Where had her beauty gone? Where had she gone?
Where was Peter's strong bravery? Where was Edmund's unwavering loyalty? Where was Lucy's brilliant glow? As she stared at her reflection, Susan saw her siblings behind her.
"Lucy! Ed! Peter!" she yelped in happiness, and turned to beam at them, only to see the blank wall. Her beautiful smile fell back into a frown. Turning back, she saw them again.
For the first time in eight years, Susan saw how wonderful they truly were. While old Susan would have scoffed at them, this one just stared longingly at them. Lucy was grinning, waving happily at her. She turned to Peter and Edmund, saying something unintelligibly. They, too, smiled back and beckoned her to come closer.
Yet no matter how much she saw them plead, Susan couldn't hear. All she heard was fuzzy muffled cries, as if she had cotton in her ears. Shrieking, her fingers clawed at her face, tears bursting from her eyes. Why do they come back to haunt her? What had she done? Where had she gone wrong? Why do they flaunt their brilliance at her when Susan felt so alone, so lost? Why couldn't she have gone in their stead?
I wonder what Heaven is like, Susan wondered. They were probably having a grand time without her, without boring old Su. They were probably laughing at her right now, mocking her hopelessness. But they weren't, and she knew that. No matter how much she wanted them to hate her, Susan knew that they didn't. That realization hurt worse than anything else in the world.
After all, she deserved the hatred.
Wiping her tears, Susan knelt down again and pushed the case under the bed. Suddenly, she paused. She never did read that letter Peter had sent her. It remained unopened, and she was ever so curious.
Bringing the case back, she opened it, and took out the letter. Back when he had sent it, Susan had bet the envelope was pearly white, and the stamp a radiant red. Now, though, it was old, fading from years of dust and neglect. Taking out a pocketknife, she gently slit it, and slid the letter out. Gazing her eyes over it, Susan began to read.
To Queen Susan the Gentle, Lady of the Horn,
It seems so strange being apart from you and Lucy, considering that the four of us have spent fifteen years in each other's presence. Edmund and I cannot bear not seeing the two of you everyday, but we must make do. Our studies take up most of our time, but even they are simple and quick. You should hear Edmund complain about his mathematics! He was the one that made sure the taxes were in order, as you remember, and here he is, doing simple algebra. It's blasphemy.
Su, do you think that Narnia is safe and well? Several times, I fear that it has been torn apart, but then I remember that Aslan would never let that happen. Perhaps we were sent to Finchley because they didn't need us anymore. That thought makes me feel so useless, almost like a pawn.
How are you and Lucy doing? I can't imagine how hard it must be for the two of you, especially Lu. Mentally, she's three-and-twenty, but she's stuck as an eight year old. She must be having a horrid time, acting the part of an innocent child, when she's ruled a country and fought in wars and saved her people. Is she still painting? I hope so, for her artwork is ever so beautiful.
I must be heading off; supper is starting soon. Edmund has told me that he will be writing to you as well, so expect a letter from him sometime in this coming week.
Best wishes,
High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion
As she read the letter, Susan wondered as to why she hadn't read it before. Surely, she would have sent a letter back, seeing as it was her brother. What confused her though, was the formal writing, and how Peter used titles and unfamiliar words.
She recalled the week her siblings departed. They were constantly talking in hushed whispers, and occasionally, spoke of 'going back' and helping some man named 'Tirian'. Pretending not to have heard them, Susan had smeared on her lipstick and went to her parties. In the back of her mind, however, she was scolding them for going on about such useless things. Logically, none of that could exist. Logically, it was impossible.
Heading back downstairs, the letter still in her hand, Susan settled herself on the couch and reread it. It didn't make any sense. It was a game. She remembered how the four of them were running from Mrs. Macready and giggling, rushing into the wardrobe in the empty room. After that, it was all fuzzy. There were snatches of her being crowned by a lion, and her letting go of an arrow, the tip piercing through the board. There was a lamppost in the wood, and strange creatures dancing around a fire. How strange. No, Susan couldn't be a queen. If she was a queen, wouldn't she have stayed, ruling forever? And besides, siblings couldn't be kings and queens together. If she was a queen, Susan knew it would be far too miraculous to forget. After all, how could one forget an entire lifetime, one of ruling and peace?
Staring into the small fire, the woman pondered. Her and her siblings were always detached, as if something was holding her back, or them back. While they rattled on about childish games, it was Susan that acted like the mature adult, and did what mature adults do: move on. Really, was it that hard? Yet, looking back, Susan always felt inferior to the three. For it was Peter who guarded and protected them, almost like a warrior. And Lucy always had this strange unfaltering faith in something, which Susan had always envied. It was Edmund that had the cool level head, never arguing with her.
Suddenly, flashes shot through her mind. It was Peter who was made knight, to always protect and keep safe his citizens. It was Lucy who brought hope to Narnia, reminding everyone where they had faltered. And it was Edmund who was saved by Aslan. What did she do? What had she done? Why was Susan crowned when she was so undeserving a title?
No, it wasn't real, she thought, pushing those ruminations back to where they belonged. Susan wasn't a queen, never was. There weren't any lampposts in the wood, that was just a dream. And the strange creatures, they were hallucinations.
A seed of doubt still sat in her heart, however. Was she left to suffer? What had she done wrong? Growing up was not a crime!
Tugging on her coat, Susan briskly fluffed her hair and grabbed the keys. Stepping outside, the woman began to walk, jog, then run. Passersby gaped at her strangely, not completely sure who she was. Some whispered, saying that was the girl who lost her family. Everyone stared sympathetically at her as she sprinted out of her street, out of her neighborhood, and out of her town. Tears clouded her vision, but she didn't brush them away. She had the right to feel anger. It was her that had grown up. It was her that should have been rewarded by Asl-God.
Eventually, by the time the rain was letting up, Susan reached her destination. The iron gates were wide open, beckoning her into the world of the dead, the deceased. A couple of metres away stood a gravestone, with flowers covering the dirt. They were dead. She was alive. They should have been punished. Then, why did she feel so guilty?
Stepping carefully, Susan's leather shoes slapped the dirt pathway. She had only been here once, two years ago, when she saw them last. Swearing never to step foot in the graveyard again, Susan had turned her back on the coffins lowering into the confines of the earth. She didn't know what had brought her back.
Finally, her eyes were staring down at eight graves, all the same shape and size in a row. The Professor's was at one end, and Jill's at the other. She remembered the Professor telling her and her siblings stories in the parlor of his mansion, of a boy that had traveled to two different worlds, and saw one of them die, and another being born. She remembered gaping, wide eyed, at him with such faith and hope, such curiosity. Curiosity is an unbecoming trait in a woman, Susan reminded herself, but the thought seemed weak in her mind. Sinking down to the ground, her shoulders slumped. She was all alone. Completely alone.
Before she was even aware of it, her body began wracking with sobs. Her wails traveled through the air, towards the keeper of the land who didn't question the tears. He kept raking leaves off the grass, listening to the woman break apart.
"Why did you leave me?! Why?!" Susan screamed to a cloud, slightly brighter than the rest.
The cloud didn't answer.
"Why did you torture me?! Why did you just give up on me?! Why did you lie?!"
The grass didn't answer.
"You said I had to grow up. You said! I did! I did! So, then why do you haunt me?! Why?!"
The wind didn't answer.
Susan shook and fell into the grass, her cries muffled by the ground. "Why? Where had I gone wrong?!"
"You-you said you loved me. You said you would protect me. Where are you now? Huh? Where are you now?!"
She felt so lost, so confused. He had teased her, with promises of a kingdom and an era of peace. Then, just as she was feeling as if nothing could go wrong, he thrust her out, placing her where she felt like a wanderer. Again, he did the same, and she...she broke apart. How could somebody who loved her so much do this to her? How could he take away her home, her siblings, everything she loved? Did he want to her to suffer? Did he want for her to feel pain? She already felt pain! For the last ten years, her heart was torn into pieces! Why did he do this? Did he want to prove a point? Did he want to show how strong he was? He got his wish. She's weak, weaker than a feather, compared to him. She was but a Gentle Queen, weak and helpless.
The letter still in her hands, Susan began to tear it apart. Empty promises, empty meanings, empty lives. It was all a joke. She was a joke, something to be laughed over. She was nothing, and he knew that. He took advantage of her. Just like those men did. She hated men.
The tiny fragments blew into the breeze, several sticking to nearby trees. Some littered the ground and she brushed them away, not wanting to see the memories. They had left her, he had left her, and where was she? Stuck in a world she didn't belong in, doing meaningless tasks she didn't want to do. He saved Edmund, why didn't he save her?
Susan no longer cried. Her heart, it hurt. It hurt so much that she just wanted to curl up in a ball and never return. She just wanted to die and forget the pain and the suffering. Oh, feeling nothing would be ever so wonderful.
Behind her, a tiny fragment of the letter sensed the woman's pain. Letting go of the tree, he floated over to her, hoping to brush away her tears. She didn't deserve such sadness. Falling to the ground, he watched as the woman gazed at him, her eyes red and filled to the brim with tears, her heart heavy.
Picking up the tiny piece of paper, Susan's blue eyes turned darker. Lucy, it read, in Peter's quick black script. For a moment, her anger dissipated somewhat. She knew what Lucy would say if she was here right now. The young girl, almost woman, would stare at her elder sister with disappointed eyes, so full of love and hope. She wouldn't scold, but instead sit there with disbelief.
Why? Why do you give up so easily? She would ask.
Because it's easy. It's easy to let go and forget. It's wonderful to not feel the pain.
Aslan never wanted to cause you pain.
Yes, Lucy, yes he did. If he didn't, you would be next to me, and not stuck in a wooden box. Heh, how ironic.
Everything he did was for a reason, you know.
And what was the reason for this? Huh, Lucy? To remind me of what a horrible person I am?
Lucy would shake her head, and tears would start to fall. We left because it was time. Because we did our part. Don't you remember? We grew up in Narnia. Now, it was time to grow up here.
I did! Lucy, I did!
No, you just thought what you were doing was growing up. Growing up doesn't mean forgetting. Growing up means strengthening your faith. It means doing what you do best.
But...but I...Parties are what I'm best at! In Narnia, the balls...it was all my doing!
Really? Are you sure?
Lu, what are you going on about?
Don't you remember? Back home, you were like the mother hen. You were strong and nurtured us. You were gentle.
No, I wasn't. I'm gentle now. Gentle means weak. Gentle means not going into battle, and shying away.
Susan, you most of all would know what being gentle truly meant.
She did know what it meant. It meant standing on the sidelines, too scared to participate in a fight. It meant worrying about being pretty, instead of being intelligent or honest.
Snatches of memories floated back up to Susan's mind. They showed the Gentle Queen feeding medicine into a sick Peter's mouth, who had gotten pneumonia after a particularly nasty battle. There was the Lady of the Horn again, reading Lucy a fairytale after a nightmare. In the next one, Susan was shooting an arrow into a dwarf, who was just about to throw his ax into a dying Edmund. The young queen nursing a deer's broken leg. Paying for a poor faun's dinner. Riding into battle, a steady, deadly calm in her eyes as her thick black hair blew in the wind behind her.
Lucy continued. You were gentle in Narnia. And now, you have to be gentle in England. After all, it's what you do best.
Yes, yes I suppose.
Lucy didn't answer.
Looking back down at the gravestones, Susan imagined her siblings staring at her in pity. They had done what they were called to do. Perhaps, had she listened, taken the cotton out of her ears, there would be another gravestone beside Jill's. And maybe, just maybe, she, too, would have been celebrating in Aslan's Country.
Above her, the clouds slowly moved apart and the sun began to shine.
Author's Note: I started tearing up while writing this. This one is a lot longer than the rest, but I had to go into Susan's mind and explore as to her own thoughts, and what she was thinking. Anyway, the location the boxes were sent was the dump; Susan just didn't want to go there herself and let go of the possessions.